


Held On As Tightly As You Held On To Me - Whumptober 2020

by itsreallylaterightnow, killerqueenwrites



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Peter Parker, BAMF Tony Stark, Blood Loss, Collars, Count Down, Dehumanization, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, I mean its whumptober, Irondad, Kidnapping, Pain, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Precious Peter Parker, Restraints, Stabbing, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Whump, Uncle Rhodey, What Did You Expect, Whump, Whumptober, Whumptober 2020, annoying big brothers sam and bucky, general pain, platonic coparenting, the collab you've all been waiting for, we put the boys through it in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:40:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 58,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26744509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsreallylaterightnow/pseuds/itsreallylaterightnow, https://archiveofourown.org/users/killerqueenwrites/pseuds/killerqueenwrites
Summary: Whumptober 2020 brought to you by me, Elane (aka itsreallylaterightnow on Tumblr) and the INCREDIBLE, TALENTED, GENERALLY LOVELY HUMAN BEING that is Ciara (aka akillerqueenyouare on Tumblr)Sit back, relax, grab some tissues and your favorite cup of tea - and enjoy!
Relationships: Happy Hogan & Peter Parker, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Peter Parker & Sam Wilson, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 1018
Kudos: 975





	1. Let’s Hang Out Sometime

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO! I am SO excited about this! 
> 
> So, I have done both Whumptober and Febuwhump this past year, and now its time for 2020's Whumptober! But, I have been CRAMMED! So, Ciara and I had the brilliant idea of splitting up the prompts (I have all odds and she has evens) and collabing our way through this sucker! I hope you all enjoy! 
> 
> Title is from To Build a Home by The Cinematic Orchestra
> 
> Here is chapter 1!
> 
> \- Elane (@itstimeforachange01)

Peter looked around, his mind breaking into fragments at the disaster that lay before him. He was sitting in the back of a van that rumbled along… somewhere. His head was shoved into a hood, and Peter’s hands were cuffed in what he could only guess to be vibranium, given the lack of give when he tried to pull on them. 

Peter didn’t remember getting snagged. The last thing he could recall was patrolling Queens. If he was being completely honest, he couldn’t remember what day it was. 

He’d woken up when the van had hit a particularly deep pothole, knocking his head against the floor with a thud.

Now, here he was. Sitting up, leaned against the cold metal of the wall, staring forward at the black hood around his face and doing his best to listen for any type of sign that he wasn’t alone. 

Peter was caught up in trying to find any sign of life when the van lurched to a stop, sending him sliding to the back of the vehicle until he hit the door with a thud. His left shoulder ached with what was sure to be a bruise. Peter was two seconds from doing his best to shake out of the hood when he heard the bustle of doors opening, and hands were ripping him from the confines of the van. 

Peter fell backwards out of the vehicle, collapsing onto his butt as rough hands grabbed for him and voices yelled above his head. Then he was being dragged backwards, unable to get his feet under him. Peter was preparing to launch and attack when he heard a familiar gasp that had his head perking up. 

Mr. Stark. 

“Spider-Man?” Mr. Stark’s voice cut through the grunts of the men hauling Peter… well, wherever they were hauling him. Peter knew Mr. Stark was using his hero name since he was wearing the suit, but Peter knew under the hood his mask was gone. 

“Mr. St-” He was cut off by a fist to his abdomen that had him coughing around the air that escaped him. 

“Hey!” Mr. Stark cried, but the man quickly quieted himself when his objections led to another punch to Peter’s stomach. 

“Shut up! Both of you!” a voice cried… a voice that had Peter’s blood running cold. That was Gargan. He would recognize that voice anywhere. That man was meant to be in prison, somewhere tucked far away where he couldn’t harm anyone else. “Mr. Parker, you should know, I have a gun pointed at the back of Tony Stark’s head.” Peter’s stomach dropped. Of course, Gargan would know exactly who he was. The click of a safety being turned off caught Peter’s attention, his blood running cold. He felt his breathing start to pick up as flashbacks to Ben laying on concrete, blood surrounding him, flooded his memory. “I am going to undo your cuffs, and hand you two chains. Then I will take off the hood. If you try  _ anything  _ funny, I will shoot Tony in the head, then I will shoot both of your kneecaps and make you watch your latest father-figure lie here on the floor before you die. Have I made myself clear?” 

Yes, yes he had. 

“Crystal,” Peter responded. Rough hands clicked the vibranium cuffs open and pulled his right arm directly out from his body, before a chain was handed to Peter. The chain was thick and cold, and he gripped it tightly. Then his left hand was directed to another chain, and Peter really wanted to know what twisted game Gargan had planned. Peter had ruined this man’s life, he knew that. Peter knew that Gargan was in this simply for the revenge, and that scared him more than anything. 

Then Peter gasped and tightened his grip on the chains as the weight of them tripled instantaneously. He found himself, enhancements and all, gripping to the chains with all of his strength. 

Then the hood was being pulled from his head and Peter looked around to a sight that had him fighting back vomit. 

On his right was Gargan who was stepping back from the bolted down chair that held Mr. Stark. Mr. Stark, who was latched into the metal chair by cuffs on both his ankles and his wrists. Mr. Stark who couldn’t possibly move without help. 

On his left was a girl, clearly unconscious, and stuck in the exact same position as Mr. Stark. 

And tied directly to the chains held in Peter’s arms, set up on a pulley system, where two massive weights. Hanging above the heads of these two people. One man that Peter loved, that Peter thought of as a father, that Peter couldn’t imagine watching die. And one hanging over the head of an innocent girl. She was wearing an NYU sweatshirt, and Peter knew this girl had never done anything to harm anyone else. She was completely innocent. 

“Well, Mr. Parker, now you can see your predicament,” Gargan said, stepping in front of Peter. “You have two lives, literally, in your hands. Your precious Mr. Stark, and this young lady that we managed to grab from the streets, honestly, I don't even know her name.” Gargan laughed as Peter readjusted his grip, feeling the strain set into his shoulders. “You have three options. One, drop the left chain, effectively killing that sweet, completely innocent girl, and I will let you and Stark out of here. Two, drop the right chain. Killing rent-a-daddy number two, and you can save the girl. The innocent girl that Spider-Man promises to keep safe, if only he’d been better. Or three… which I happen to think is the most likely of the three. You try to hold out, imagining the members of your  _ Avengers  _ will find you right in time, but eventually, your arms will go numb, and you’ll be so exhausted that they will quit altogether or you pass out and wake up to both of your friends… well, lets just say it won’t be a very pretty sight.” Gargan stepped in closer to Peter then, the rage and utter hatred shining in his eyes. “You ruined me, Parker. Let me return the favor.” And without giving Peter the chance to beg, to plead, to sob for the man’s forgiveness, he and his men walked from the warehouse. 

“No-no-no-no!” Peter cried, as he rolled his shoulders. His hands began to cramp as he stared at the white knuckles on his fist. “Gargan!  _ GARGAN!  _ Get your ass back here! Don’t do this! Don’t you dare-fucking do this!” Peter screamed his fear turning to rage.

“Kid, Peter, I need you to listen to me.” Mr. Stark’s voice was too calm as Peter shook his head. He knew exactly what Mr. Stark was going to say, and there was absolutely no way it was going to happen.

“No! NO! Don’t you think I’m going to listen to you tell me to kill you,” Peter stated simply. 

“Peter,” Tony said, obviously trying to draw in Peter’s attention, but Peter wouldn’t. He wouldn’t look to his right. Wouldn’t look at the weights he held, at the lives he held. He couldn’t. “ _ Peter, _ ” Tony demanded, and Peter felt a sob catch in his throat as he whirled his head around.

Mr. Stark looked so peaceful. His warm eyes watching Peter gently. 

“Don’t even say it.” Peter shook his head again, tears leaking down onto his face. His shoulders screamed at him, his biceps beginning to tighten into cramps at the lack of relief. The weights pull on him, drawing him closer and closer to a decision, whatever it might be. 

“Kid, you can’t let her die. You know that, and I know that. And if one of us is going to have to go, don’t let it be her. She hasn’t done anything. Let her live her life. I’ve had mine,” Mr. Stark said, but Peter gave a curt shake of his head. 

“I haven’t had mine!” he fought back, screaming as he tightened his grip, sweat making his hands slide. “And if you die - if I kill you - then I never will!” Because he could never imagine losing Mr. Stark. Could never imagine having to leave with the fact that he hadn’t been strong enough. So he would be. He would be strong enough. 

“Kid, this isn't on you. You're Not the one that did this.” Peter knew Mr. Stark wanted to keep talking, but the pain in his shoulders caused him to gasp out in pain as he readjusted his hold and braced his legs out. 

“I can’t-I can’t. I’m not strong enough,  _ don’t ask me to be strong enough,”  _ Peter insisted as he focused on the chains. He did a quick count. Thirty-two chains between his hands and the end of the line. “K-Karen, she would have sent out a distress signal whenever they… well, whatever they did,” Peter said as he bit his lip while a cramp rolled through his back. His knees started to shake. “I just have to hold out. I can do it.” Peter grunted as the pain raged through his body. “I can do it.” 

Time passed, and Peter’s body shifted between unbearable pain and terrifying numbness. His entire body shook. His head hung limply against his chest, his knees continued to give out. He would stumble down, the weights rattling above him as he set himself back up. Silent tears ran down his face and he was too exhausted to do anything more than breathe and keep a hold on the weights. Mr. Stark had been offering encouragement the entire time, and maybe he’d stopped, or maybe the blood rushing through Peter’s ears just drowned out the sound of anything else. 

Peter felt the sweat running down his back. His head screamed at him. His arms were in a constant state of cramping and his back was close to simply giving out. He didn’t know how much longer he had in him. His hands had slid down to leave only twelve chain links between his fists and the death of two innocent lives. Peter needed help. He just needed help.

“I know, I know buddy. Help will be here soon. You’re going to be okay.” Peter could hear Mr. Stark. He wanted to look him in the eye, to beg him to fix the disaster he’d made, but the idea of raising his head was more than he could handle. 

Minutes turned to hours in his mind. He shook so hard the chains rattled. 

Peter’s body was going numb. He could barely breathe. He wept. Openly. Without any ounce of shame, because he was  _ exhausted.  _ In the purest sense of the word. He was completely exhausted. 

He felt his legs begin to give out on him, but this time, there was no standing back up. This time he was left hanging from his hands, his legs folded beneath him as his arms rattled. He cried out as the cramps overwhelmed him. His vision faded in and out. He knew he was about to lose. 

“Let go, kid.” Tony’s voice was so quiet. But it resounded in Peter’s head.  _ Let go, kid. Let go, kid.  _ Peter pleaded whatever God was out there to send help. 

“No,” he sobbed, his voice wrecked from the screaming, but he knew he had no choice, because he saw the ground coming closer, and felt his hands beginning to loosen of their own accord. 

He wanted to scream, but there was nothing left of him. He’d left it all there. 

And just as Peter was certain he would hear the crashing of the weights, just as he was certain he had failed, blasting sounds filled his ears and he managed to lift his head in time to see Rhodey, Steve and Sam burst into the room from where they’d blown the door from its hinges. 

“Get Peter! Get him, now!” Mr. Stark cried, and Peter wanted to plead, but his mouth just fell open in silent cries. 

Then Sam was in front of him as Rhodey and Steve tore Mr. Stark and the still unconscious girl from their chairs. 

“You can let go now, Pete,” Sam said, and Peter didn’t have the choice anymore. 

The chains fell from his hands, the weights collapsing onto the ground either side of him, cracking the concrete. 

Peter collapsed forward like a puppet that had its strings cut. 

Sam caught him, and Peter’s body was on fire and numb and freezing all at the same time. He wanted to cry, but that took too much effort. He wanted to pass out, but he could breathe now. 

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you. Just breathe, Pete,” Sam said, the man lowering Peter to the ground. Peter was boneless, pliant as arms laid him flat on the concrete floor. Peter felt someone lift his head and stuff a jacket under it. 

He blinked his eyes open to see a red-eyed Mr. Stark staring down at him, his hands running all along Peter’s face as he cried. 

“You did it, Pete. You did so good. Just rest now, okay? We’re going to get you taken care of, you just rest now.” Peter choked on his breaths as someone laid a blanket across his shivering body. 

“Alright, I’m going to pick you up and we’re going to get all three of you over to the tower and get you all taken care of,” Sam said, as Peter watched Steve and Rhodey as they stood off to the side. He wanted to know if they’d caught Gargan, but talking would take energy he didn’t have. 

Sam picked Peter up easily, and Mr. Stark adjusted his limp head on Sam’s shoulder as the group left that horrible place. Steve held the girl in his arms, and Peter wanted to ask if she was alright, but he just let himself breathe. He figured he deserved the right to be quiet right now. 

Mr. Stark slid into the vehicle the men had driven first, and helped Sam lay a shaking Peter out on the back seat. His head laid in Mr. Stark’s lap as the older man adjusted the blanket tighter around his body. 

“Alright, Pete, why don’t you take a bit of a nap until we make it back?” Mr. Stark asked, his fingers beginning to gently massage the mess that was Peter’s neck and shoulders. Peter let out a massive sigh, his eyes closing of his own accord as he reminded himself that they were  _ safe, safe, safe  _ while sleep overtook him. 

  
  



	2. in the hands of the enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhodey wakes up and is immediately pissed off.
> 
> He’s chained up in some shitty basement like a damsel in distress, and there’s a child that looks like his best friend shackled to the wall next to him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tis i! the other half of this dynamic duo. i'm so excited to be doing with the amazing [ itsreallylaterightnow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsreallylaterightnow/pseuds/itsreallylaterightnow) – we have some good ones coming up!
> 
> we run on wildly different time zones, so updates will probably come whenever the one posting that day is awake lol
> 
> with a bonus uncle rhodey, enjoy 'kidnapped' and '"pick who dies"'
> 
> ciara (@akillerqueenwrites)

Rhodey wakes up and is immediately pissed off.

He’s a full bird fucking Colonel in the fucking Air Force and he’s chained up in some shitty basement like a fucking damsel in distress. They took his braces. He’s going to fucking kill them.

And there’s a kid chained to the wall next to him, head slumped forward so brown curls are hiding his face. 

Rhodey starts pulling on the chains, trying to reach where they’ve been embedded in the wall, grumbling to himself, and all around making enough noise that the kid starts to stir. He blinks, squints, tries to move a hand – and as soon as he notices the thick cuffs, panics.

“Hey, whoa!” Rhodey says sharply, which just startles the kid even more. His struggles grow more frantic, limbs flailing wildly. “Kid, come on, calm down.”

And the kid does. He takes a deep breath and looks over at him, and for a minute, Rhodey isn’t in the basement anymore. He’s eighteen, meeting his roommate for the first time.

His next thought is _what the fuck has Tony done?_

There’s a child that looks like Rhodey’s best friend shackled to the wall next to him. 

“Uhh,” the kid says, eyes wide, “Colonel Rhodes?”

“That’s me.”

“Actual War Machine. Okay.”

Rhodey nods. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I don’t think so. Um…where are we?”

“I wish I knew, kid.”

“We’ve, like, fully been kidnapped,” the kid says, and doesn’t seem at all distressed or confused by that fact. He has Tony’s eyes. God.

“Yeah, that’s about the conclusion I’d reached,” Rhodey agrees. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Peter, sir. Peter Parker.”

“You know anyone famous? Or were you just in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

Peter frowns at the question. Confused? Offended? “I’m Mr Stark’s intern.”

Right. He knows Tony. Tony knows him. Tony has hired his own son as an intern. What the hell kind of nepotism is that? Child labour?

“So we both know Tony. Guess whoever took us is trying to cover all their bases.”

“What do you think they want?” Peter whispers.

“I don’t know, kid. Their move.” Rhodey tries to shift himself up, but his legs aren’t cooperating and his hands slip. “Son of a bitch–“

“Oh, your legs!” the kid blurts. “Oh my god! Did they take them? I mean – your braces – are you okay?”

“Fine, fine,” Rhodey says with a grunt. “I’m just not a lot of use at the minute.”

“So we just have to wait?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, well, we should think of something to pass the time,” the kid says, and despite himself, Rhodey grins. 

* * *

Pretty much the only thing to do in this place is talk, but the kid has no shortage of something to say. He reminds Rhodey, once again, of Tony: the uncontrollable, nervous word-vomit; the way whatever topic he picks to ramble on about always cycles back to science somehow. 

Although he was disoriented from being knocked out, Rhodey would guess it’s around evening, and he’s even more sure about that when Peter’s stomach growls. And again.

“Sorry,” the kid says, “I do a lot of – of stuff. Always busy. Fast metabolism.”

“Kid, don’t apologise. This is – whoever’s done this. It’s their fault.”

“If I’m being annoying, just tell me to stop,” Peter says, before launching into another detailed story, this time about _Star Wars_.

_Wouldn’t dream of it._

* * *

Eventually, despite his growling stomach and the uncomfortable expression on his face, Peter leans his head against the grimy wall and drops off to sleep. Rhodey, used to operating off six hours or less, warily watches the door; if whoever took them has waited this long to introduce themselves, they might be trying to catch them off-guard. Not that Peter should have a guard to be on: he’s a fucking kid.

_Tony_ , Rhodey thinks again, _what have you done?_

Is the kid here because they know what Rhodey’s also sure of? Or just because he’s an intern? Both?

Whatever they want, it can’t be good.

* * *

“Get up.” Door slamming. Footsteps. “Now.”

Rhodey opens his eyes and glares. Two men are standing over them, one of them holding Rhodey’s braces. The other waits a moment before driving his boot into Peter’s stomach.

The kid jerks awake with a strangled cry.

“Hey, come on. He’s just a kid.”

“Does it look like I give a shit?” one grumbles, and drops Rhodey’s braces to the floor. “Get them on. We ain’t fucking carrying you.”

“Do you need a hand?” Peter whispers.

“Please.”

Peter whimpers as he reaches out to drag the braces closer, hunched over in a way that suggests something is injured in his torso – ribs, maybe – but helps Rhodey into them with an ease and deftness that’s surprising.

“All right.” The men lean over, unlocking their cuffs. “Upstairs. You’re about to be movie stars.”

“Super,” Peter mutters, and gets a smack around the back of the head for it.

They’re pushed and shoved up the basement steps, down a hall, into a room, and forced to kneel in front of a camera. Rhodey winces as his braces snag; they clearly haven’t been looked after. 

“All right, go,” someone says behind them. “You see this, Stark? Here they are, both alive. And they’ll stay that way if you do what I want. I won’t ask again.”

A hand clamps around Peter’s shoulder, but the kid barely jumps, just scowls up at the speaker.

“This one in particular is very cute. I’d hate for anything to happen to him.”

“Oh, yeah, real cool,” Rhodey snaps, “threatening a kid. Real big man. Hope you feel good about yourself.”

Someone snorts, and then a fist hits the underside of his jaw so hard he bites his tongue. 

“Stop!” Peter yelps. “Stop it–“ He breaks off with a grunt, a slap echoing around the room.

“Better hurry up, Stark, before they really piss me off,” the same voice growls. “I look forward to doing business with you.”

The red light on the camera blinks off. 

Peter grunts again, and Rhodey blinks the stars from his vision to see the kid has his head yanked back, someone’s hand fisted in his hair.

“You better behave, you little brat,” another man hisses, leaning down, in his face. “Stark intern or not, you’re still not as valuable as the Colonel over there. If we have to cut one of you loose – well, try not to make the decision easier for us, all right?” He releases Peter with a scoff. “Get them back downstairs.”

* * *

They’re chained back to the wall, side by side, and the men drop a can of beans as they leave.

“Dinner,” Peter says with false cheeriness. For a kid that’s presumably never been kidnapped and held for ransom before, he’s taking it eerily well. Frighteningly.

“Doesn’t look like they bothered to give us a spoon,” Rhodey sighs, and opens the can by the ring-pull. Was this what Tony was doing in Afghanistan, living off tins and the kindness of a stranger?

“Hope you don’t mind I haven’t washed my hands in a while,” Peter says with a wry grin, and Rhodey grins back. 

* * *

The kid falls asleep. On Rhodey. Head resting on his shoulder.

Either this kid has a sixth sense, or he trusts people way too easily. Like, yeah, Rhodey’s War Machine, but he’s also a practical stranger. 

They’d called him Tony’s intern. They don’t know what Rhodey does. Do billionaires normally shell out ransoms for their interns? Not that Tony wouldn’t, Rhodey knows, but it’s interesting that their captors thought the kid would be a weak spot.

Footsteps. Doors slamming upstairs. Rhodey tenses for their kidnappers to burst back in, but nothing.

Peter blinks awake after a while, frowning. 

“You okay, kid?” Rhodey says. “Well, other than all of this.”

“Mm,” Peter says. “Dunno, I have a – bad feeling.” He even looks like Tony now, half-asleep, concentrating, a tired frown creasing the skin between his eyebrows.

The door opens, less violently this time, and they both sit up, not wanting to be caught off-guard again.

“Get them upstairs,” someone says. Peter rubs his wrists as the shackles fall free. “Quick. Boss wants this over with.”

Rhodey doesn’t resist this time, just lets them manhandle him up the stairs, and hopes Peter follows his lead. As they walk, they start to hear voices, one sharper than the other.

“Yeah, okay, I’ve given you what you wanted. Let them go.”

The men bundle them into the room, where Tony is sitting at a large table across from a man Rhodey assumes is the leader of this whole shitshow.

“Mr Stark–!” Peter cries, breaking off when someone kicks him in the back of the leg and forces him to his knees.

“That’s enough,” Tony says, all ice and steel. Rhodey’s probably the only one who can see the cracks; barely visible, but there. “We’re done here. Let him up.”

“Not quite.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You did take your sweet time getting me the goods.”

“I told you–“

“If you really wanted, I’m sure it coulda happened faster.”

Tony’s jaw ticks.

“Choose one of them.”

“What?” Tony says.

“Choose. The Colonel or the kid.”

Tony meets Rhodey’s eyes. A spark of terror before his carefully controlled mask is back in place. “What’s going to happen if I do?”

“The one you choose can leave with you.”

“And the other?”

The man holding Peter down pulls a gun out and slowly pushes it against the back of his head. The kid’s eyes blow wide in alarm.

“Pick who dies, Stark. Isn’t that what you do every day? Make life and death decisions?”

Tony’s panicking now, in his quiet, stiff way. Frozen in place.

“Pick one.”

“Tony,” Rhodey says firmly, and inclines his head towards Peter. _Choose the kid, or I’ll never forgive you, and you’ll never forgive yourself._

“Choose, Stark, or I’ll shoot them both.”

“I can’t–“

The leader nods. “Shoot the kid.”

“ _No_!” Tony and Rhodey yell together. Peter closes his eyes, but no shot comes.

“I think Colonel Rhodes is volunteering. You’re in luck, kiddo.”

Rhodey grits his teeth, waiting for it. They’re going to drag it out, take their time. They’re enjoying torturing them all. Fuckers.

“Pete,” Tony says, with a barely-there waver. The kid looks up, meets his eyes, nods. “Okay.”

If there’s a signal, Rhodey doesn’t see or hear it, but Tony and the kid move in the same moment: Tony taps his watch and pulls out a gauntlet, firing off shot after shot; Peter explodes upwards, grabbing the barrel of the gun pointed at him and snapping it in two, and Rhodey barely blinks and the kid is behind him, throwing a punch, and then he’s _climbing up the fucking wall–_

Rhodey’s dead. They shot him and his dying brain is firing off hallucinations. That’s what’s happening.

The last of the men goes down with a groan, and Peter drops from the ceiling, landing in a perfect crouch. 

“Are you okay?” Tony half-drags him to his feet, grabs his arms, rough and clumsy in his panic. “ _Are you okay_?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Peter promises. “They didn’t hurt us. Much.”

“Rhodey?” Tony says.

Rhodey points at Peter, at the wall, at Tony, back at Peter. “What the fuck?”

“Yeah.”

“Tony, what the fuck?”

“Okay, you’re taking this worse than I thought you would–“

“He was on the fucking ceiling!”

“He does that sometimes.”

“Tony!”

“I’m Spider-Man,” Peter says. “Guy from the airport. Still not been carbon dated. Hello.” He waves.

“He’s twelve!”

“Fifteen, honeybear.”

“Oh my God, I’m going to kill you.”

Tony grins, one hand still on the kid’s shoulder. “Can we get out of this shithole first? And kid.” He grasps Peter’s chin, turning his head to the side. It’s a movement so careful, so gentle, that Rhodey looks down. “Thought you said they didn’t hurt you.”

“Much,” Peter says.

“Rhodey, you hurt?”

“I’ll survive.” Rhodey takes a step forward, winces as his braces catch and snag. “They weren’t very careful with these babies, though.”

“But at least they’re fixable.” Tony rubs his thumb over Peter’s bruised cheek once before letting go. “All right. Jet’s outside. Let’s get a shift on.”

“Where the hell are we, anyway?”

“Just outside Syracuse.” 

“Damn, how long was I out for to not remember that journey?”

“Probably at least four hours.” Tony slings an arm around his shoulders. “You good? Can you walk?”

“We’re fine, man, stop fussing.” Rhodey claps Tony’s arm, aiming for reassuring. “You saved us, all right? What you saw on that video was about the worst of it.”

Tony smiles, relief taking over the last of the panic in his expression. 

Rhodey leans in close, lowering his voice. “So, he’s your kid, right?”

The dumbfounded look on Tony’s face shocks a laugh out of Rhodey, which makes the kid look over at them, frowning bemusedly.

“My kid?”

“Yes?”

“As in – mine. Biologically.”

“It’s obvious.”

“No, it is not – Rhodey!”

“Your kid,” Rhodey says, and starts to walk off.

“Well – yes, but not in that way – Rhodey!”


	3. My Way or the Highway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But then his spidey-sense racked up to one hundred and Peter flinched as he looked around. All he could think was Pepper Pepper Pepper. Without hesitation he began to run along the side of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooo on to chapter 3! Thank you all for your great support! We appreciate it so much!

Peter stood at the side of the conference room, watching as Pepper continued on her speech. Stark Industries had recently become the biggest face in green technology, and this press conference showed it. The conference room was packed out with reporters and video cameras. Mr. Stark had insisted that Peter didn’t need to come, but Peter said he wanted to. He and Mr. Stark had already decided he would have a job at Stark Industries in the future, and Peter figured that there was no better way to get to know a company than to go to its events and hear everything that was going on. 

So he was standing at the back of the room, watching Pepper answer question after question eloquently. Her smile was professional as always as she shared the details of the company’s success.

Peter was lost in the question a reporter asked when the hairs on the back of his neck pricked up. He stood up straighter, looking around the room. Mr. Stark was sitting on the stage behind Pepper, smiling at her with pride in his eyes. Happy was standing right off to the side of the stage, watching the crowd tightly. Peter just shook his head, figuring this was just him overreacting. 

But then his spidey-sense racked up to one hundred and Peter flinched as he looked around. All he could think was  _ Pepper Pepper Pepper.  _ Without hesitation he began to run along the side of the room. 

Being shorter than the average person in a room full of standing reporters had both its perks and downfalls. He could exactly see what was happening as he sprinted along the wall, but he also wasn't being seen, which helped him run up to the edge of the stage uninterrupted. 

His warning flares were shooting off, and he just knew that something horrible was about to happen. 

Peter leapt across the stage, his secret identity be damned. 

He came into full body contact with Pepper right as a gunshot rang out from somewhere in the room. Peter had Pepper wrapped in his arms, and he turned them mid-air so that he landed on his back, her wrapped up on top of him. Pepper’s crystal blue eyes shone down on him in alarm, but all he knew was that he needed to get her off stage.

Peter’s heart raced as he forced the two of them up, and he drug her from the stage. Peter could see in his peripheral that Happy was dragging Mr. Stark off from the other side of the stage, security already hard at work in the room. 

Peter and Pepper made it behind the curtain, and he felt himself begin to shake as adrenaline took its course. 

“Are you alright?” he heard Mr. Stark asking, as the man grabbed Pepper’s shoulders, looking her over. 

Peter wanted to say of course she was alright, but when he looked at her light blue dress, the left side of it was covered in dark blood. Peter’s heart stopped. He was too late. She was hit. 

Peter’s own suit was blood free, but all he knew was that he failed. He’d let Miss Potts get shot. A wave of lightheadedness rushed through him. 

“Happy! Call medical! Pepper, sit down. Sit down!” Mr. Stark cried, as he ran his hands along her side. Pepper just shook her head, her face white as a ghost as she looked over at Peter.

“I-I-I’m fine. Tony, I’m fine,” she insisted, looking down at herself. “It’s not, it’s not me. I’m totally okay,” she stated once more, running a hand across the bloodied part of her dress.

Tony, his face full of confusion pressed against her side, taking seconds too long to come to the right conclusion. 

Peter noticed, upon the relief that Pepper was okay, that he was swaying where he stood. He was so lightheaded that everything started to blur, and whenever he tried to take a deep breathe in, he failed. 

He must be having a panic attack. Ever since Ben… well, everything that had happened, Peter had found himself unable to handle anything to do with gunshots. And this, this horrible event hit so close to home. That was it, he was having a horrible panic attack. 

Then Mr. Stark whirled around to face Peter, the man’s skin white as a ghost as everything fell into place. 

“Pete-” Mr. Stark’s voice was so quiet. Or maybe it was the blood rushing in his ears. 

Peter stumbled forward. Would have fallen flat on his face, but Mr. Stark’s hands reached out, catching him, and lowering him straight to the ground. The man ripped off his jacket, and Peter wanted to insist that the three-piece Tom Ford was too expensive to be used as a pillow, but Tony placed it under his intern’s head anyway. 

“You’re alright. You’re alright,” Mr. Stark insisted, his fingers trembling as he undid the buttons holding together the black suit coat and ripping it open to reveal a blood-coated undershirt. “Shit, Happy! Where’s my medical?” Mr. Stark yelled, and it was so loud and so quiet all at once. 

Peter wanted to beg for silence, say that he couldn’t really feel anything, so please could everyone be quiet so he could take a nap. 

Then there was a horrible-no-good-terrible pressure on his right side and Peter thinks he may have screamed or maybe he passed out but hands were on his shoulders and someone was crying and saying his name, but he couldn’t stop writhing because the pain was 

_ So  _

__ __ __ _ Much.  _

“PETER!” Mr. Stark’s voice. Grounding him. Always grounding him, pulling Peter from his thoughts and back down to earth. “You have to calm down. I have to put pressure on this, and you have to be still. The medical team is three minutes out, you stay with me, you understand?” Mr. Stark’s voice left no room for argument and Peter took in a shuddering breath. “There you go, you just focus on breathing, okay?” 

“Okay-okay-okay-okay-okay,” Peter said, his hands shaking as he remembered Pepper. “P-P-P-Pepper?” he asked, his voice ladened with terror. 

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” she rushed to assure him, dropping down by his head and beginning to run her fingers through his hair. Peter wanted to say more, to make sure she hadn’t been hurt, but he was exhausted. His eyelids slowly began to close of their own accord. Peter felt his neck going loose, his head falling back as Pepper supported him. 

“No, no, no. Hey, Peter-Peter, open your eyes,” Pepper said, her big scary CEO voice coming out. He heard Pepper offer a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well, you better listen to this scary CEO voice and open those eyes right now, young man.” 

He didn’t want Miss Potts to be mad at him. So with as much will as he had, Peter forced his eyes open. 

Everything was so blurry. 

Peter saw Pepper offering a sad smile. 

Mr. Stark was saying something about hanging on… hanging on to what? 

Peter tried to take a breath. 

Nothing happened. 

Pepper’s eyes widened at the choked off noise that escaped him. 

Everything went dark. 

-

Peter woke up to a tightness in his right side and a terrible beeping noise behind him. He blinked his eyes open, happy to find the lights in the room dimmed. 

He let out a sigh, painfully aware that he was in the medbay at the tower. He’d been here a few too many times. Mr. Stark always told Peter he never wanted to see him on this floor of the tower again, and somehow Peter always managed to make it happen anyways. 

Peter was about to reach for the call button when a hand rested on top of his. He flinched looking to his left to see Pepper. She had wet hair, and was in what looked to be pajamas. Now that Peter was aware of her presence he noticed that both May and Mr. Stark were in recliners on the other side of the room. 

“Hey, Peter.” Pepper’s voice was quiet as she ran her thumb up and down his hand. “How are you feeling?” 

Peter gave a small nod. “Well, I can tell I’m on the good stuff,” he whispered as Miss Potts gave a small smile. “I feel alright. Are you okay?” he asked, giving her a once over. 

“I’m fine. You made sure of that,” Pepper said sternly and Peter nodded letting his head rest on the pillow behind him. 

“Good,” he muttered. 

“Mhm, well, you can decide that tomorrow when you feel better and I have the heart to lecture you on taking a bullet for me,” Pepper said as Peter’s eyes closed of their own volition. 

“Okay,” he said as a kiss was planted on his forehead. 

“Get some rest, Peter,” the woman said as he began to drift off. The last thing he heard was Pepper’s soft voice saying, “Thank you.” 


	4. caged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s no warning, just a split-second of panic as ice flashes up his spine, senses screaming move! but he shoots a web too late to alter his trajectory, and a dark shape flies out of nowhere, wrapping around him, pinning his arms to his sides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all your lovely comments! i'm so glad you're enjoying this. i didn’t get to use collars in day 2, so you’re having it now.  
> warnings: mild dehumanisation, collars, muzzles and peter being an angry boi
> 
> ~ ciara (killerqueenwrites)

_“Incoming call from May Parker and Mr Stark.”_

“Shit,” Peter hisses. “Uh, hey, guys. I’m almost there, I promise.”

_“Oh, he promises,”_ Mr Stark says. _“Is Brooklyn ‘almost there’, May?”_

_“I wouldn’t say so, no.”_

_“No. Funny, that.”_

God, Peter hates when they tag-team him. “I’m swinging as fast as I can. I just had a – a thing.”

_“Kid,”_ Mr Stark says, _“tell me you weren’t at that protest.”_

_“Oh, Peter–“_

“I wasn’t _at_ it,” he says, banking sharply around a corner and barely avoiding a pigeon. “I was just – supervising.”

_“And what if there was a counter-protest?”_

“Well, there was. There were, like, ten of them. I let them yell until they started threatening violence and then I webbed them up.”

Mr Stark sighs. _“Okay, as long as you were careful.”_

“Always am.”

_“The likelihood of that bill being passed is very slim, kid.”_

“Politicians are on the news telling the country that I deserve fewer rights than an animal,” Peter says hotly. “Me, Steve, Bucky, Wanda, anyone like me who got their entire world turned upside down overnight. It’s not fair. Those kinds of ideas stick around, Mr Stark.”

_“I know, kid,”_ Mr Stark says quietly. _“Okay, hurry on back. Mrs Parker has been eyeing the larb. She’ll have it if you’re not here stat.”_

_“Slander!”_

“I’ll see you guys soon,” Peter says, shooting another web. “You know I wouldn’t miss Thai night.”

_“We’ll see you soon, working class hero.”_

“Mr Harrington says protesting is patriotic.”

_“And he’s right. See you in a bit.”_

“Bye!” Peter launches himself into the air and does a somersault. “Yes! Karen, any way I can shave a few minutes off? I’m hungry.”

_“Try cutting through this block.”_ She highlights the route in his HUD. _“It should get you to the bridge faster.”_

“Got it.” He swerves, kicking off the wall of a building to make the turn. The alley is narrower than the main street, darker. 

There’s no warning, just a split-second of panic as ice flashes up his spine, senses screaming _move!_ but he shoots a web too late to alter his trajectory, and a dark shape flies out of nowhere, wrapping around him, pinning his arms to his sides.

He hits the ground with a gasp, and lies there, winded.

A net. He’s caught in a net.

“Karen–“ he forces out, “call – alert FRIDAY–“

_“Peter, I – unable to – signal–“_

“Karen?”

“Oh, look at this,” a new voice says, “our trap caught a rat.”

Peter thrashes uselessly, his arms still trapped against his side.

“Oh, Spider-Man? I know someone who’s been looking for you.” The man, still out of sight, laughs. “All right. This is gonna hurt.”

Electricity crackles out from the net, makes Peter seize, clench his jaw–

Blackness.

* * *

He wakes up in a cage.

Panic, instant and overwhelming. He kicks out, hits something solid with a clang of metal.

“Oh, he’s up.”

“Let me out of here!” Peter yells, and kicks the cage again. He’s still in his suit, but his mask is gone. Wherever he is, it’s dark.

“No can do, freak.”

“Let! Me! _Out_!”

“Kick all you want, you little freak. Those bars aren’t going anywhere.”

Peter throws his leg out one last time, just as an extra _fuck you_ , but his foot still bounces uselessly off the bars.

“Vibranium’s a wonderful thing, isn’t it? Look at you, Spider-Man. Stuck in there like a little stray dog.” The man leans closer. “You lost, little puppy? You look like you need a forever home. Lucky for you, I know someone in the market.”

“I’m not a dog,” Peter retorts, but no one responds.

“Load him up!” someone calls, clapping a hand on the top of the cage, and he’s being hoisted up, into the back of a van. The door slams shut.

* * *

It’s pitch-black. The smell of gas is nauseating. Peter’s legs and back are starting to ache from being curled up in the cage. 

He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. It’s definitely been more than the ten minutes it should have taken him to swing back to Manhattan. They’ll know something’s wrong. Mr Stark will be looking for him.

The van picks up speed, the vibrations rattling the cage, and the sound of surrounding traffic fades out. They’re driving out of the city.

Finally, the sounds change. The engine slows, gravel crunches under the tyres. Peter sits up as much as he can, ready, waiting.

The van doors open and a cacophony of chatting and laughter erupts. From what Peter can see, they’re in a kind of garage – a loading bay, maybe. If he can get out of here, all he’ll need to do is find someone with a phone.

Peter waits until they’ve opened the cage and started reaching for him before exploding outwards, feeling his foot connect with something that grunts. He spins wildly, looking for a door–

Something loops around his neck, tightens, and he cries out in shock, trying to move away from it – but there’s another one, tugging in the other direction, and then one tightens around one wrist, pulling, twisting his body so he stumbles and falls.

The second he’s on the ground, more men move forward, with those lassoes on sticks like he’s a fucking stray dog they’re trying to catch. They trap his free wrist and both his ankles, tightening the loops and holding him still no matter how much he tries to struggle.

“Hm.” A face he hasn’t seen before leans over him, peering down. “It seems you’re going to take some wrangling.”

“Screw you,” Peter spits. One arm is twisted over the front of his chest, the other pulled out above his head. He can’t even move his head without something pressing into his windpipe. 

“And you need to learn manners. Westbrook, give him his dose.”

A guard leans down, holding something that glints in the dim light, and jabs it into the top of Peter’s arm.

“Shit!”

“That should make you a little less troublesome.”

Peter kicks out weakly – but that’s the problem, it _is_ weak. He feels like he could barely lift his head, never mind fight them off. He can already see the guards relaxing their grip, watching his struggles with amusement. They don’t think he’s a threat anymore.

“Good boy,” the man says. “Welcome to your new home.”

Peter swallows down frustrated tears and glares.

* * *

They let him up and free his legs, but pull him along by his neck and wrists like a lassoed horse. Every time he thinks of trying to break away, there’s a yank on one of the loops around his neck that makes him cough and retch.

How long has it been? Long enough for Mr Stark to start running a trace? To catch his abduction on some camera the police don’t have access to? To follow the van its whole journey?

The man who seems to be in charge walks ahead of him, leading them down a corridor. Peter hopes the guy can feel him glaring daggers at his back.

_Manners_. Who the fuck does he think he is?

“This way,” the man says.

“You got a name?” Peter asks loudly. “What do I call you?”

“What does a dog call its owner?” the man says smoothly.

“Excuse me?”

“I shouldn’t be surprised you need training.”

“I don’t need shit, man.”

The man laughs, opening a door at the end of the hall. It looks almost like an office – desk in the corner, couches in the middle – but with a display case on the far wall.

“Now,” the man says, walking over to it. “Red seems to be your colour, Spider-Man.” And he picks something out, weighing it in his hands. A length of leather with clasps on it. A collar.

_I think the fuck not._

“Stay still.”

“You are _not_ putting that on me!”

“Don’t move.”

“Don’t come near me with that!” Peter jerks his arms; at full strength, it would have pulled both the men holding the catch poles off their feet, but all it does now is make the metal loops slice into his skin.

“Oh, calm down.” The man fastens it around Peter’s neck, taking his time, checking the fit. “Doesn’t that suit you?”

“ _No_ ,” Peter says with all the venom he can muster, straining against his restraints. He wants to reach up and rip it off. It’s pressing against his throat, an uncomfortable pressure all the way around. _Wrong wrong wrong_.

“You won’t be able to undo it, so don’t try.”

“There’s something wrong with you,” Peter hisses.

“Me? You’re a mutant.” The man nods towards the corner of the room. Peter follows his gaze and finds another dog crate, barely bigger than the last one. “And now you’re a pet. You should count yourself lucky. Not everyone like you is going to have such an easy life, especially not once the government passes the rights repeal bill.”

_Oh, he’s one of_ those. “That won’t pass. You’re insane if you think so.”

“Won’t it?” the man says. “Now, as much as I’m enjoying our conversation, I think you need to learn some manners, so…” He turns and walks towards the case again, pulls something out of the drawers. Peter immediately bristles because he hates the look of it, all leather and straps, but he doesn’t twig what it is until the man returns and reaches for his head.

He jolts back as much as he can, which isn’t far at all. “No–!”

“Don’t be silly, pet.”

“I’m not your fucking–“ Whatever Peter wanted to follow is lost when something jabs into his side, burning, searing, and he screams and staggers, only held upright by the catch poles still looped around his wrists and neck. He wheezes, tries to suck in a breath, but the man moves quicker, fitting the leather muzzle under his jaw and over his face. Straps pull tight, and in a matter of seconds, Peter can barely make a sound.

_What the fuck is wrong with this guy?_ He tries to work his jaw, move his lips, but no dice.

“Now, do I sense a flicker of fear in you?”

_No_ , Peter thinks, and glowers.

“That’s good, because fear breeds respect, and you will respect me. I _own_ you.”

_The fuck you do._

* * *

“Morning!” a voice calls cheerfully.

Peter stirs, tries to stretch and yawn – but his arms hit something solid, his jaw is locked shut.

_Right_.

“Aw, did you forget where you were?” The man from last night peers into his cage. “How did you sleep?”

Shitty. Obviously. He was locked in a dog crate all night.

“Hm, just from your expression, I think we need to leave that on a little longer, don’t you? Dogs don’t just get to bark whenever they feel like it.”

Again with the dog thing. Peter rolls his eyes, but then his stomach rumbles, and the man chuckles.

“Hungry, pet? You’d better learn how to behave, then.”

Peter looks down, unable to stop the heat blooming in his cheeks. Of course he’s hungry; he missed dinner because he was kidnapped and sold to this weirdo, and now, apparently, it’s the morning.

His back complains as he tries to move, too used to its hunched-over position. Another yawn tries to make its way out, but he can’t move his lips and it just makes his eyes water. 

“Remember,” the man says, strolling over to his desk, “I own you.”

This time, it sticks in Peter’s mind a little. _I own you._

* * *

More than anything, he’s bored. The man sits at his desk all day, answering calls, typing on his laptop. Peter tries to free himself from the collar and the muzzle, tugging with all his strength, but they don’t budge.

_Super._

“I warned you. No getting out of those.”

Peter resists the urge to flip him off. Not worth it.

“See? You’re learning. Good boy.”

_Good boy._

* * *

He’s managed to wriggle around so he’s lying on his back, knees pulled up against his chest. The muzzle is pressing uncomfortably into the back of his head, a constant reminder of where he is, who he’s with.

His owner.

_No_. Not that. 

The crazy dude who thinks you can buy people and treat them like animals. 

Well, apparently he can. Peter’s locked in a cage, unable to so much as dent the bars. He’s stuck in a collar and a muzzle. Helpless. A rat caught in a trap.

The man – _not owner_ – closes his laptop and gets up to leave, pausing to smile down at him. “How are you feeling?”

Like it’s been waiting for this moment, Peter’s stomach growls. He can’t stop a grimace as it twists, too, loudly protesting at the lack of food.

“I think you can wait until breakfast. Sleep well, pet.”

Peter’s glare follows him all the way out of the room, a frustrated groan building in his throat with nowhere to go. Doesn’t this guy know that enhanced systems often run on enhanced metabolisms? Maybe he does, and just doesn’t care. Even worse – maybe he does, and he’s actively using it against Peter.

_What a dick._

Peter rests his head back down and tries to sleep.

* * *

He’s dozing fitfully, trying his best to ignore the gnawing emptiness in his stomach, when he hears yelling. Lots of yelling. Footsteps, pounding the floor. Metal screeching.

And the _whirr-hum_ of repulsors being fired. 

_Mr Stark._

Peter sits up – too fast, bashes his head against the top of his crate. 

_Not his._

Heavy footsteps grow closer until the door swings open. Freedom is so close.

“Jesus Christ,” Mr Stark’s voice says. “Peter?”

Peter can’t reply, but he kicks the cage again and again until the Iron Man helmet appears in his line of sight.

“Kid,” Mr Stark sighs, relieved.

Yes, he’s a kid. Not a thing. Not a pet. A kid. Mr Stark’s kid.

“Okay, let me get you out of there. Hang on.” Mr Stark reaches out and grasps the padlock, crushing it in his gauntlet. “Guess not everything in here is vibranium.”

Peter crawls out of the open door, avoiding his gaze. He’s supposed to be Spider-Man, and here he is, caged, collared and muzzled, unable to even free himself without help.

“Ah, I see it,” Mr Stark says. “It needs both of us to open it. Four fingers. Here.” He gently takes Peter’s hands and guides them until his fingers are resting on two points behind his head. “Press them.”

Peter does, as Mr Stark presses two clasps under his chin, and the muzzle pops free. He stares at it, lying on the floor, for a long moment, and flexes his jaw.

“There you are,” Mr Stark says, laying a reassuring hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Same deal with the collar, I think.”

With a nod, Peter follows his hands and presses where he directs. The collar drops to the ground, and he instinctively rubs his throat.

“It’s okay, kid,” Mr Stark murmurs, “take your time. Just us in here.”

Peter sits back heavily, leaning against Mr Stark’s chest, and breathes. His face feels exposed, his neck free and unrestricted.

“Are you hurt?”

“No,” Peter manages, his voice creaking like a rusty hinge. ‘M okay.”

“All right.” Mr Stark’s armour melts away, sliding back into its housing unit, until Peter’s leaning against his shirt. He runs his hand through Peter’s hair, again and again, humming something familiar into the top of his head.

“Sorry,” Peter whispers, “they got the jump on me–“

“Nuh-uh,” Mr Stark says, firm but soothing, “not your fault, kid. If anything, it’s mine.”

“What?”

“We were watching this guy for a while. He’s been donating money to anti-mutant lobby groups, pushing for that bill.” Mr Stark exhales through his nose. “Should’ve paid more attention. Anyway, Rhodey’s kicking the shit out of him. Thought it’d look better if the full-bird Colonel did the damage.”

“Probably,” Peter says with a grin.

“Oh, there’s that smile,” Mr Stark says. “Missed you, buddy.”

“And I missed Thai night,” Peter whines.

“I’m sure it’s reheatable. No, scratch that – we’ll order again. Whatever you want.”

“Sounds good.”

“Hell yeah, it does.” Mr Stark is quiet for a moment. “Whatever he said to you, it wasn’t true. Not at all.”

Peter reaches blindly, shifting until Mr Stark has him in a proper hug. Warm. Safe. Images float through his mind, despite his best efforts to push them away: trapped in a net, unable to move; pushed into a cage; collared; dragged along like a caught stray; _good boy;_ _pet_ –

“Peter?”

“I know,” he says. “Just – got in my head a bit.”

“Okay.” Mr Stark murmurs. “Well, he was wrong. Objectively.”

“You don’t even know what he said.”

“Ah, but his Twitter feed gave us a great insight.” 

“Yikes.”

“Yeah.” A beat of silence, before, “Shit, it’s so good to see you, kid. May just about lost her mind when you didn’t make it home.”

“Just May?”

“And Happy was beside himself.”

“Of course.”

Mr Stark kisses the top of Peter’s head, so quickly he wonders if he’d imagined it. “You ready to get out of here?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Peter’s stomach feels like it’s trying to tie itself in knots, wringing itself out like a wet towel. He winces. 

“You hurt?” Mr Stark says instantly.

“Just stiff. And hungry.”

“Well, we’re only in the Hamptons, so it’s a quick hop back to the Tower.” He taps his chestpiece and the suit flows out over his body once again.

“Yeah, he seemed like a rich weirdo,” Peter agrees. He tries to get to his feet, but blackness swirls in his vision and he comes back to Mr Stark steadying him with both hands, face pinched in concern. “Uh, upgrade that to very hungry.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Before Peter can protest, Mr Stark leans forward and scoops him off the ground, cradling him against his chest.

“Whoa–!”

“No collapsing. I can’t handle much more.”

Peter sighs, but doesn’t protest any more; it’s comfortable, and his legs are still cramping from being curled up.

“Okay, you just – just tap out now. I got this.” Mr Stark shifts Peter so he’s more secure, letting him rest his head against his shoulder. “I got you, buddy. We’re good.”

And Peter knows, like a fundamental law of the universe, that they will be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> may and tony are the best platonic coparents send post


	5. Where Do You Think You're Going?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stay away from me!” he growled. “Haven’t you done enough? Haven’t you taken enough from me, Beck? Can’t you just leave me alone!” Peter was yelling now, his voice cracking as he felt his heart race. 
> 
> Mr. Stark - no, Beck - Beck just held out his hands in a calming gesture. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter five is here!! I hope you all enjoy! This is what I wish happened at the end of FFH!! 
> 
> I am so blown away by the kindness you guys are pouring out on us! Thank you for your continual support!

“His name - his name is Peter Parker!”

Those words rang out in his head on repeat. Hitting him in between the eyes time and time again. Every breath, every thought, every movement, laved with those words. Laced with fear. With terros. Thinking about his friends, thinking about his  _ family.  _

He remembered Michelle screaming his name. Remembered looking down at her, everything sounding like it was underwater. The crowds below him, the wide eyes of the New Yorkers. 

Peter had made a split second decision. MJ would be safer without him. If he tried to take her it would only put her in harm's way. 

Peter had bolted. 

He swung through the city as fast as he could, not sure of where he was going, only knowing that he had to get out. His arms and legs felt numb, and he was pretty certain every ounce of oxygen had been stripped from the earth as he struggled to breath. 

Everything he had ever worked for was gone. 

Vanished into thin air. 

His life would never be the same again. May would have to go into hiding. He would never be allowed to take over Stark Industries like Mrs. Potts had planned. He could never do Decathlon, or go back to school. His life as he knew it, everything he had ever fought tooth-and-nail to protect, was just over. Done. 

Peter swung until he was in the suburbs. He collapsed into a tall oak tree, folding in on himself amongst the foliage as he tried to breathe.  _ Just breathe.  _ He told himself. God, he wished Mr. Stark was here. 

It would take the man all of five minutes to have everything sorted out, to throw that Jameson guy so far down the drain that no one ever thought of him ever again. 

Peter choked on a sob as he buried his face in between his knees. 

He just wanted Mr. Stark back, just wanted his normal life back. But that could never happen again. 

Peter had muted Karen mid-swing as call after call had been coming in through his suit. If May, Pepper, or Happy called him, the people out there that wanted him - Secretary Ross and those who were involved in the accords - would be able to track them down. They would find them and have them in cells, use them to get to Peter. He couldn’t let that happen. 

Why was it so hard to breathe?

Peter’s vision was going dark, or maybe it was dark outside now, when he heard a car park underneath him. 

Everything stopped. Peter took a harrowing breath and held it, tucking himself as far into the tree as he could. 

A flashlight shined up on him, the beam hitting his side and Peter let out a whimper, mad at himself for how weak he was being. 

“Peter?” A voice came that had him withering. He knew that voice. That voice was safety and rugged kindness, and sarcasm that carried love behind it. 

Peter looked down, bringing his head from around the tree to see Happy Hogan, Head of Security at Stark Industries looking up at him. The man was in the same outfit he had been in earlier that day in Peter’s apartment. His face was filled with lines of worry. “Peter, can you come down? Are you hurt?” Happy’s voice was gruff with emotion. 

“I-” Peter cleared his throat, his voice shaking with emotion and mental-exhaustion. “I’m okay,” he said, before sticking a web to the tree and lowering himself down to the ground. Happy immediately wrapped the kid up in a hug, and pressed a hand to the back of Peter’s head, drawing him into the man’s chest. 

“You’re okay, okay. You’re okay.” Happy paused, taking in a deep breath, and Peter just rested in the man’s warmth. He hadn’t realized how cold it was, that he was shaking. A vague thought of  _ shock  _ went through Peter’s head, but he didn’t settle on it. “Come on, out of the suit.” Happy led Peter to the shadows of the tree and held out a pair of jeans and a hoodie. Peter quickly changed, and went to hand Happy the suit, but Happy just shook his head. “Sorry, kid. That has to stay here for now. Tony put that extra tracker in your suit for me, but that doesn’t mean other people can’t tap into it.” 

Peter pulled the hoodie over his head and nodded. 

“Yeah, of course.” His heart ached at the mere mention of Mr. Stark’s name. 

When Peter was fully dressed Happy tugged a baseball cap onto his head. “Alright, into the car. We’re going to a safehouse. Some people are going to meet us there,” Happy said, ushering Peter into a small sedan, some car that no one working for Stark Industries would drive. Peter sat in the front seat, his mind racing so fast that not a single thought would stick.

The car started, and Happy blasted the warm air. Peter sighed, not realizing how numb his hands and feet were until that moment. 

They drove in silence. Or maybe Happy was talking, but all Peter was capable of was staring out the front window of the car. Watching as road after winding road took him farther away from the life he had known. 

Peter felt like he blinked and they were parked in front of a log cabin, surrounded by woods. It reminded him of the Stark’s lakehouse. 

Then Happy was unbuckling him, and a warm hand wrapped around Peter’s shoulder and he was being guided forth, and up the front steps of the porch. Happy looked at Peter anxiously, but Peter just stared at the man. He could hear voices inside, but he couldn’t make them out, or maybe he just wasn’t trying hard enough. Everything seemed so hard right now. 

“Stay here for one moment, okay? I’ll be right back.” Happy disappeared into the house and Peter just stared at the door handle, feeling as though every ounce of his strength had been leached from his body. 

His stomach growled, and he realized he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. It was late into the night now, but the thought of eating anything right now made him want to vomit. 

He hears Happy saying something gruffly inside. “He can’t handle this right now, he’s barely speaking, it will overwhelm him.” 

Peter had no clue what Happy was talking about, wasn’t sure how much longer he stood out on the porch before it was opening and Happy stared at him expectantly. 

“Alright, let’s get out of the cold,” he said, and Peter just gave a slow nod, stumbling into the house. 

He looked up and saw three people standing in the room. 

Mrs. Potts, who looked pale and stressed. Peter wanted to hug her again and apologize for not doing more to save Mr. Stark. But she just stared at him with worry tracing every single line in her face. 

Colonel Rhodes was in the room too. Peter hadn’t seen him since the funeral. The man had been so busy with trying to undo the Accords. Rhodey took a slight step towards Peter across the living room, but forced himself to stop. 

Peter stared at the third person, his face slack. He tried to place the face, his mind tried to compute the dark hair and goatee, and the metal arm, scarred face. 

Peter blinked. 

It was him. Beck was here. He’d suckered Peter into another horrible simulation. 

“No.” Peter’s voice was broken, scared, panicked. 

Peter stumbled backwards, his knees trembling as hands wrapped around him, voices saying things but Peter just shook his head, over and over and over again. “No, no, no!” he cried, collapsing in on himself. 

He would have fallen, but the person behind him held him up from his abdomen. 

Peter’s heart stuttered. That couldn’t be Happy. Beck had made an illusion to look and act like Happy. With his entire body shuddering, Peter ripped away from Happy, stumbling forward in the room, and falling into the stair railing. His ribs ached in protest as he used the banister to keep himself from hitting the ground. 

Maybe it was because he hadn’t eaten all day, or the fact that he had swung all the way to the suburbs, or maybe it was just the sheer horrible things that had happened today, but Peter was certain he would be unable to stand on his own right now. The four adults moved to walk towards him, but all Peter could do was sneer at Beck. 

“Stay  _ away  _ from me!” he growled. “Haven’t you done enough? Haven’t you taken enough from me, Beck? Can’t you just leave me alone!” Peter was yelling now, his voice cracking as he felt his heart race. 

Mr. Stark - no, Beck - Beck just held out his hands in a calming gesture. 

“Pete – it's me. It's really me, Mr. Stark,” Beck said, his voice sounded just like Mr. Stark’s. 

“It’s not - it’s not - yo-you can’t trick me again. I won't fall for it this time. Mr. Stark is  _ dead!”  _ Peter cried out, his voice choking off in a sob. Couldn’t they just leave him alone? “I heard him! I heard him die! I l-listened as his heart stopped, and I watched as they took his body away, so don't even try-try to tell me that he’s alive! I have  _ begged  _ and  _ prayed  _ every night that he would come back to me! So don’t-don’t be that cruel!” Peter’s voice broke as he began to sob. 

“I’ll explain, I’ll explain everything, I promise. Just - it's really me,” Beck said, taking a step towards Peter. But Peter jerked backwards, falling onto his back on the stairs and crying out as he felt the stitches Happy had put in pull tightly. “Okay, okay, just calm down.” Mr. Stark said as Peter huffed, frozen in terror like a wild animal caught in a trap. “I’ll prove it. I’ll prove it, here.”

Peter forced himself to stand, still using the banister to keep himself up. “How would Beck know that you pretend to be different Avengers when you stand in front of your mirror and you got so embarrassed when I mentioned that I saw it that you hid in the bathroom of the lab for an hour? How would he know that you spent the last father’s day with me? How would he know how much it meant to me to take you driving in my Model A? Would Beck know any of that?” 

And it hit Peter that, no. 

Quentin Beck, that monster that had destroyed Peter’s life, couldn’t know any of those things. 

“Mr. Stark?” His voice shook. 

All of him shook. 

“Yeah, kid. It’s me.” 

And Peter wanted to say something, to cry, to run into the man’s arms. But, he hadn’t eaten, he was mentally and physically  _ done.  _ He was tapping out, whether he liked it or not. 

And Peter was out before he ever hit the ground. 

* * *

When Peter woke up, he was lying on a couch, with his head propped on someone’s lap. He heard quiet voices around him, as someone’s fingers raked through his hair. 

He let out a quiet grunt, and the fingers stilled. 

“Pete?” a tender voice said from above him, and Peter opened his eyes to see Mr. Stark’s warm brown eyes looking down at him. “Hey, kiddo,” he said and Peter just felt tears well in his eyes as he turned, latching himself around the man’s middle. 

“Mr. Stark,” he stated simply, his voice muffled from where his head was buried into the man's chest. Mr. Stark wrapped his arms around Peter, and he let out a deep sigh. 

“Yes, I’m here. Everything is going to be okay, alright?” Peter just nodded as his body shook with tears. Tears of fear, regret, guilt… but also tears of delight and joy. 

Because as long as he had Mr. Stark, everything was going to be okay. He knew that much. 

  
  



	6. please...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony keeps walking, through a door that slides shut behind him as Rhodey yells a warning, and stops.
> 
> HYDRA guy, waiting with an arrogant smirk, Peter’s mask in hand. Peter, unconscious on the other side of a glass wall, hands cuffed behind his back. 
> 
> “Stark.” The man’s smirk grows. “Let’s talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is based off an episode of clone wars, because i can
> 
> enjoy day 6, 'no more' and 'stop, please'
> 
> warnings: torture, electrocution

“Behind you!”

Without question, Tony spins, firing a stun blast that knocks the approaching agent on his ass. “Good spot, kid!”

Peter webs another man to the wall and clambers higher, keeping watch from a bird’s eye view. He throws a web grenade, pinning an agent against the ground and sending his weapon clattering away.

If Tony never hears the name HYDRA again, it’ll be too soon. They’re trapped in what might be the loading bay of this underground bunker, fending off wave after wave of HYDRA agents that keep spilling out from seemingly nowhere. It’s tense; even Peter isn’t as chatty as usual.

_“Boss.”_ FRIDAY highlights a figure striding towards the huge bay doors. _“General Baum is attempting escape.”_

“Heads up, guys! Head guy in charge is getting away.”

As soon as he says it, Baum turns around and hits a panel on the wall on the other side of the doors. They start to slide closed.

“He’s _really_ getting away!” Tony yells.

“I got him!” And Peter’s sprinting towards the door.

_Okay, anyone but him._ “No, wait!” Tony calls. “Spider-Man–!”

Peter shoots a web and jumps, just slipping through the gap before the door closes. 

“Kid!” Tony says, seething, furious, terrified. “I want you reporting back every time you _breathe_ , is that clear?”

Silence.

“FRIDAY, get the kid on comms.”

_“Unable to connect.”_

“What?” Tony shoots a repulsor beam as another HYDRA guy gets a bit too close for comfort and takes off, heading towards the heavy door. 

“Stark, we need you here!” Steve calls.

“If I don’t get this door open, we’re all stuck!” Tony snaps back. “And Spider-Man’s out there on his own. All right, Fri, do your thing.”

_“Unfortunately, the mechanism seems to have been destroyed from the other side.”_

“Okay, then do the other thing.”

_“With pleasure. Redirecting all excess power to repulsors and arc reactor.”_

“Need someone watching my back over here!”

“You got it,” Sam says.

Tony plants his feet and sends three beams at the door – one from each hand, and another from the reactor. 

_“At this rate, you will break through the door in another ninety seconds.”_

“Not good enough.” Peter’s out there taking on some frighteningly fucked-up HYDRA guy by himself. 

_“Rerouting power from backup life support systems. Breakthrough in fifty seconds.”_

“See if you can get comms back up, too.”

_“The things I do for you, Boss.”_

A gap starts to appear, molten metal dripping away and sizzling on the floor. No sign of Baum or Peter.

“How we doing on the comms, girl?”

_“Still no connection.“_

“Dammit.”

The hole widens, inch by inch, until there’s a gap big enough for him to step through. If the others can’t fit, they still have Rhodey, he reasons.

“Where’s the kid gone, Fri?”

_“Unclear.”_

“Super.” Tony starts down the corridor, hands raised and ready to fire, but it’s empty, silent. Not a single sign of life.

He kicks open one door, finds the room empty, groans. How long has it been? Has Peter caught up with Baum? 

Then he hears a noise at the end of the corridor and turns towards it, marching forward. If Baum has touched his kid…

“Tony, wait!”

Tony keeps walking, through a door that slides shut behind him as Rhodey yells a warning, and stops.

HYDRA guy, waiting with an arrogant smirk, Peter’s mask in hand. Peter, unconscious on the other side of a glass wall, hands cuffed behind his back. 

“Stark.” The man’s smirk grows. “Let’s talk.”

* * *

“…even _think_ about touching him, I will blast you into the next fucking century.”

Peter shifts at the voice, frowns. They sound angry.

“I always wondered why you were so protective of him. Now it makes sense.”

Peter tries to move, but his hands are stuck behind his back, and when he tries to pull them free–

Electricity, shooting up his arms. Pain. He cries out, more from shock than anything else.

“What did you do?” Mr Stark. That’s Mr Stark.

“Ah, he’s awake. Activated the cuffs.”

“Don’t move, kid. You’re alright.”

“Listen to Stark. The more you struggle, the more you’ll get shocked.”

Peter tries again, just to be sure, and instantly regrets it.

“Stop it – stop!” Mr Stark yells. “He’s just a kid.”

“If you piss me off, I have manual controls too.”

“Yeah, okay, I believe you. Now leave him alone.”

Peter tries to roll over, sit up, but even that movement sends a sharp jolt up his arms. He hisses. 

“Now, are you ready to do business?”

“Let Spider-Man go,” Mr Stark says. “He’s off-limits. Off the table, since you want to be a businessman so bad.”

“But I need to make sure you _behave_.”

Peter yelps as the cuffs give off another quick shock. 

“I said stop!” Mr Stark snarls. He looks furious, even through the glass.

_Glass_. Peter had followed the Baum guy in here, ready to take him down, only for something to jab into his neck. He remembers going limp, being cuffed, his mask tugged off, tossed against the wall, the glass sliding into place. Blackness.

A trap. A trap for him, and now for Mr Stark.

“Get out of the suit.”

“Excuse me?”

“There’s no way through this glass, and even if there was, you wouldn’t make it before I shocked him to death. If you want me to let him out, give me the suit.”

“Okay, there’s a world of difference between getting out of the suit and handing it over,” Mr Stark says. “I have protocols–“

Peter hits the ground before he even realises he’s screaming. He needs to get out, run, get away from this agony, but every movement only makes it worse, _he can’t do this, he can’t–_

The pain stops, and he sucks in a shaky breath. It catches on a sob.

“Give me the suit. Once I’m out of here, I’ll release him.”

“I can’t just let you leave with this kind of tech.”

“Then you don’t care about Spider-Man as much as you pretend to.”

Peter grits his teeth and tenses for the next shock, but it doesn’t come; the waiting is almost worse. Mr Stark glances between him and the HYDRA officer, sharp, frantic.

It’s one of his worst fears, Peter remembers suddenly. Mr Stark is terrified of his tech being used for the wrong reasons by the wrong people: Stane, Vanko, Loki, Ultron, Toomes.

“Don’t give him the suit,” Peter says suddenly, “Mr Stark, don’t do it, don’t–“

This shock is worse than before. His whole body seizes, choking his cry of pain before it can burst out, and he hits the ground on his side, unable to even take a breath.

And it doesn’t end. The pain won’t stop.

“Stop,” he gasps out, “stop, _please–_ “

“Stop it, stop it!” Mr Stark is yelling. “No more – come on, he’s done–“

Agonising relief.

“I hope you understand I’m serious.”

“Yeah, got the message. Fuck you. FRIDAY.” Mr Stark meets Baum’s gaze, visibly seething. “Switcheroo Protocol. On the double.”

“Don’t,” Peter wheezes. Not Mr Stark’s suit. Not for him.

Neither of them acknowledge him. The suit starts to unfold from around Mr Stark, and the HYDRA officer steps forward, hunger in his eyes.

“Let the kid out,” Mr Stark says. “Glass gone, cuffs off. The works. And leave the mask.”

“Of course.” Baum throws Peter’s mask to the side and presses a button on his remote. The cuffs hum warningly and open, drop to the floor.

The last of the suit peels away and wraps itself around the officer. Peter is suddenly painfully aware that Mr Stark is vulnerable, defenceless, without his armour.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Stark.” The faceplate slams shut and the suit takes off, crashing through the ceiling and out into open air. After a second, the glass wall slides up and Mr Stark runs to Peter, almost dragging him to his feet. 

“Are you okay?”

“Sorry,” Peter stutters out, “I should’ve known it was a trap – and he has your suit – Mr Stark–“

“Cool your jets, Underoos. I asked are _you_ okay?”

Peter ducks his head. Mr Stark’s suit is gone, and it’s his fault. “Fine.”

“Mm. Still getting Wilson or Rhodey to look you over.”

“But your suit–“

“Oh, it’ll find its way back home. There are two protocols for me handing a suit over: the Malibu Protocol, where the suit defers to an authorised person on my order – that’s Pep, Hap, Rhodey, you–“

“Me?”

“–and the Switcheroo Protocol, used in situations like this, where I’m being forced to give up a suit. That guy can fly to his heart’s content until I give the word to FRIDAY and she reassumes control and delivers him right back to us.” 

“Oh.”

“Gotta think of everything. Although…” Mr Stark bends down and picks up the cuffs. “Really thought I’d insulated your suit against things like this. Back to the drawing board.”

“Suit’s fine, it’s the idiot wearing it,” Peter mutters, and gets a flick around the ear. “Ow!”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Mr Stark says. “You couldn’t have known it was a trap.”

“It was very obviously a trap.”

“In hindsight.”

“Mm.” Peter sighs and rolls his sore wrists. “I’m honestly amazed you’re not yelling at me about following orders or – or following bad guys into traps–“

“All in good time, Itsy-Bitsy.”

“Wonderful.”

Mr Stark shakes his head and puts a hand on the back of Peter’s neck, pulls him close for a second. “Let’s add that to the list of things I never want to experience again.”

“Yeah, same.”

“Mask.” Mr Stark releases him with a sigh. “And then let’s get out of here.”

Peter shoots a web and pulls his mask towards him, catching it easily. “You’re being very calm about this.”

“Yeah, it’s called repression.”

“I’m _shocked_.”

“No.”

“Tony!” Rhodey bursts through the door. “Tones – shit, kid, get your mask on. Tony, where the fuck is your suit? Why can’t I leave you two alone for five minutes?”

Peter quickly pulls his mask down over his face, just getting it past his chin before Natasha appears in the doorway.

“Locked down out here. Where’s the suit, Tony?”

“Some guy took it for a joyride. I’ll get FRIDAY to bring it back now.”

“How did he just _take_ it for a joyride?” Rhodey asks, scathing. 

“My fault,” Peter says. “He used me.”

Natasha’s eyes narrow, just for a second. “Okay.”

“I think Mr Baum has had enough fun.” Mr Stark taps the face of his watch. “Fri, bring him back for me.”

_“Of course, Boss.”_ A pause. _“He does not seem impressed at the development. I have reminded him that the suit opens from the front.”_

“You frighten me. Drop him off with Steve.”

_“Will do.”_

“I’ll start up the jet,” Natasha says, and leaves. 

“She definitely knows,” Rhodey says.

“She _suspects_.”

“It’s Natasha. She knows.”

Peter shrugs. “Probably.”

“You two good?” Rhodey says seriously. “We lost both of you for a minute. No comms. Rogers almost swore.”

“My bad,” Peter says, “but I’m fine.”

“Kid needs a check.”

Rhodey raises his eyebrows. “Getting mixed messages here.”

Mr Stark stares at Peter. He stares right back. 

“Okay, I’m a little bit not fine. But nothing serious.”

“That’s probably a good assessment,” Mr Stark says.

“You sound insultingly surprised.”

“Never,” Mr Stark says, and throws his arm around Peter’s shoulders. Tension is still sitting at the corners of his eyes, but he’s smiling, the fond grin that seems reserved for Peter. “All right, let’s split. I’ll see if I can annoy Natasha into stopping for burgers.”

“Always down for burgers.”

“I know, kid.”

“He’s permanently hungry,” Rhodey says. “Human garbage disposal.”

“This is – libel. Defamation.”

“Not if it’s true, Webs.”

“Ugh.”

They start walking. Mr Stark tugs Peter against his side, presses a quick kiss to the top of his head. 

“I’m really okay,” Peter says quietly.

“Forgive me if I don’t let you out of my sight for the foreseeable future.”

“Fair.”


	7. I've Got You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But mostly, Peter thought of what he would do when he saw them all again. 
> 
> But then… as long days dragged into longer days, that “what” turned to an “if” and then that “if” turned into purely imagining the scenarios. He was certain he was set to die in this cold, cruel place. Left to rot under fluorescent lights and limp limbs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 7! This feels like its going both so fast and so slow! I cannot say how blown away I have been with everyone's support! Its mid-terms and I'm moving to a new apartment this week so the stress is real, but this has been such a joy to continue working on!
> 
> Thanks for all of your support! 
> 
> This is going up early because I like to wake up to comments (completely self-indulgent, I know, but I do what I can ;) 
> 
> \- Elane

Peter sat, his back against the cold wall as exhaustion laced every movement he made. 

He didn’t know how long he had been here. In this cold, too-bright cell. He was in the Raft. Had been here since Ross burst into his school, ripping him away from his classmates, his life. 

Peter had been stuck into an armored vehicle, his veins filled with a drug strong enough to take down a grown elephant. 

Things faded in and out from there.

Whenever he was finally getting over the drug, some nurse would come in and ruin his few seconds of coherent thoughts by dosing him up again. 

The drug made him feel  _ heavy.  _ Like every movement, every breath, every thought weighed a thousand pounds.

So he sat. They would pull him from the cell, drag him (literally) to a terrible room. He called it the metal room. Everything was cold metal and harsh lights that hurt his sensitive brain. They would collect samples and run tests and do terrible things that hurt  _ so much!  _ But he couldn’t do anything because he couldn’t think straight. So he just stared at the doctors through half-lidded eyes. Sometimes they would make fun of him. Someone would laugh as they prodded him hard enough to get a grunt from his lips - which about as much effort as he could exert. 

Today has been terrible. 

The doctors had taken skin samples. 

It had hurt so much. 

The drug did nothing to diminish his pain, it just removed his ability to react. 

So Peter had laid there, they hadn’t even bothered to strap him down, and he had only been able to cry. Tears of pain as he screamed internally. Pain reaching through every terrible nerve he had. 

As he sat… well, slumped, against the wall, Peter tried to move so that the patch of raw muscle on his back didn’t lay against the metal wall, but he could barely lift his hand, much less roll over. 

Peter thought of his family. Of the family he had pieced together throughout his sad life. He thought of May. Aunt May. How much he longed to hug her. For her to hold his head against her chest while he wrapped his arms around her waist and cried. Just to be comforted by her. She was his biggest comfort, his constant. She was everything to him. He wondered what her life looked like now. Did she cry often? Did she cry at all? In his darker moments, he thought that maybe she was relieved. I mean, she definitely hadn’t asked to get stuck with him. He had been a burden, thrust upon her. Maybe she was feeling a little more free, a little more happy now without him. 

When those thoughts got too heavy, he thought of Ned Leeds. Ned. His best friend. The boy who had so quickly taken Peter into his home, welcomed the sad, orphaned boy into his life. Peter thought of Ned sitting at the lunch table across from MJ, thought of Ned watching Star Wars movies alone. God, he missed his friend’s laugh. Wanted to sit and put together lego sets and not think of anything other than the sounds of joy coming from his best friend. 

Then Peter’s mind would wander to MJ. To the girl that had swept his heart away. He thought of her smile often. It overwhelmed him. The way her eyes would crinkle, and if you really got her laughing, she would duck her head down as her shoulders shook. He thought of their first kiss. He had been in so much pain, but kissing her lips had made every painful moment worth it. She was a warm beacon, a candle in a window, calling him home. He missed her greatly. 

Then he would think of Mr. Stark. The last person on the planet that Peter had expected to care for this deeply. He thought of their days in the lab. Retreated into his mind as the pain would become too much. He would think back on the best memories. The messed up robots and the successes. When one of them would have a scientific whim that they would share, and sixteen hours later Pepper and May would find them both asleep on their desks, lab notes scattered around them. In his more somber moments, Peter thought of the bad times. The angry moments, and when he was certain Mr. Stark was going to die on that battlefield. He thought of turning into dust, and his heart would start to pound in his chest. 

But mostly, Peter thought of what he would do when he saw them all again. 

But then… as long days dragged into longer days, that “what” turned to an “if” and then that “if” turned into purely imagining the scenarios. He was certain he was set to die in this cold, cruel place. Left to rot under fluorescent lights and limp limbs. 

So when the drugs started to fade from his system, Peter stopped caring. He didn’t try to fight back anymore. He just was. 

The doctor’s tests grew worse or maybe Peter was just exhausted.

Lights

Needles

Pain

Pain 

Pain.

His life. 

So when he was laying on the table once again, a doctor digging around in his right knee with a scalpel, pain so terrible that Peter was broken out in a cold sweat - tears pouring down his face as pitiful whimpers fell from his limp jaw, the last thing he was expecting was for Sam Wilson to burst into the room, pistols raised in the air. 

The guns fired, the doctors fell all around Peter.

He just continued to cry, squeezing his eyes together tightly. 

He had known hallucinations would come at some point. But he hadn’t expected them to be this real. 

“I’ve got him on the South West corner, get medical here now!” Sam cried, holstering his pistols and rushing to the side of the metal table. “Parker, open your eyes for me? Can you do that?” Sam’s voice was so gentle. 

Peter didn’t want to interact with the hallucination, but he couldn’t help it. Hallucination or not, he was being given the chance to look at a friendly face once more. 

Peter blinked his eyes open to half-mast. 

“Hey, kid,” Sam said, a horribly sad smile falling across the man’s face. “I’m going to get you out of here, okay?” He began to rip the electrodes and IV’s from Peter’s body. 

Peter just laid there, unable to do anything else, theweight of the drug coursing through his veins. 

“Peter? Can you talk to me, kid?” Sam asked, looking down at the copious amounts of blood coming from the open wound on Peter’s leg. Peter wanted to. He wanted to plead that Sam not leave him. He wanted to beg the man to knock him out, to provide some kind of pain relief, because he was vibrating from the weight of the pain. But instead, Peter just blinked again, unable to do anything else. 

“Alright, alright, I’m going to wrap this knee as best as I can. The team is almost here, so you just breathe, alright? We’re getting you out of here.” 

Peter wanted to thank him, but then the man was lifting his knee and rolling it with gauze and Peter choked out a grunt of pain. Because it  _ hurt.  _ Everything hurt so much and he was so sick of being drugged up and he wanted to run away and punch and hit and fight but he couldn’t  _ move!  _

“Okay-okay, I’m done!” Sam cried, running blood covered hands along Peter’s chest in soothing motions. “I’m all done, so you just breathe, alright?” 

Peter wanted to explain to Sam that breathing had been hard since he’d been injected with that first dose of whatever godforsaken drug they’d injected into him, but then the door burst open and Peter just stared. 

Because it was Mr. Stark. Who was all worried face and sweaty forehead and in a moment's notice he was out of his suit and had both hands tenderly holding Peter’s face, and he was talking ,and Peter couldn’t even keep up with the conversation because Mr. Stark was  _ here! _

Peter felt tears begin to fall, and Mr. Stark just raked at them with his thumbs. 

“Hey, hey, none of that. I’m here, you’re safe,” Tony said gently. Kinder than Peter had ever heard him be. 

“His vitals are… low. Lower than normal, but he’s awake. He can’t really talk or move. I think they’ve got him on some drug, that's what their notes are saying,” Sam said from where he was flipping through the pages of the doctor's notebook. 

Peter wanted to beg the man not to read it, to tell Sam that he didn’t want to know. But Sam continued forth, every once in a while his eyes would flick up to Peter’s face, and then back down on the page. 

“I’ll get this to Cho. We need to get him out of here.” Sam insisted, breaking Tony from his stupor.    
“Alright, the med team can’t get in here right now, but we are going to get you to them, okay?” Mr. Stark asked, and Peter forgot how good it was for someone to ask him a question. 

Mr. Stark placed his arms under Peter’s back and his knees. Peter grunted in pain, the raw skin and lacerations screaming in protest to the movement. 

“I know, I'm sorry. We have your good drugs on the jet and you can rest then, I promise.” 

At the mention of more drugs, Peter’s mind began to race and his breathing sped up into shallow little gasps. Without realizing he was doing it, Peter found himself moving in short jerks, like he was trying to escape the man’s hold.    
Mr. Stark cursed, adjusting his grip on Peter as he held the struggling teen tighter. 

“Okay, okay – no medicine. Nothing you don’t want, I promise.” Peter continued struggling and Mr. Stark knelt the two of them down to the ground, using his free hand to run the sweat-soaked hair from Peter’s forehead. “Peter,” Peter paused, struggling to look into Mr. Stark’s eyes. “I promise. Nothing without your consent. Nothing.” 

Peter took as deep of a breath as he could. 

“Okay, let’s get you home.” 

He was lifted again, and this time, Peter let himself go loose in the man’s hold. Breathing in the scent of motor oil and coffee and his mind began to relax. 

He was safe. And he was going home. 

  
  



	8. don't say goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m not leaving you,” Peter says, “so don’t even try.”
> 
>   
> “Peter–“
> 
>   
> “You wouldn’t leave me. You can’t expect me to do the same.”
> 
>   
> “That’s different.”
> 
>   
> “How is it different?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's barely been a week and i'm already behind on comments so sorry, i really do appreciate every single one
> 
> ~ ciara

“Peter,” Mr Stark groans for the hundredth time.

“Shut up.”

“Peter–“ Whatever he tries to say next is lost as the wind picks up again, a howling gust, rattling the trees and throwing snow into their faces.

Peter fights through it, one step forward at a time, until he catches sight of two fallen trees resting against a rock, an opening between them. Shelter. He pulls Mr Stark’s arm tighter around his shoulders and pushes forward.

It’s not exactly warm in the little hollow, but the chill of the wind is gone and there’s no fresh snow falling. Small victories.

“Here.” He helps Mr Stark sit down, wincing at his hiss of pain, and tugs his mask off. The cold hits his face like a slap. “Does it need more webs?”

“No, buddy.” Mr Stark cups his cheek. “Webs are holding.”

Peter glances at the wound and swallows down bile.

It had been a simple mission on the surface. Infiltrate a suspected HYDRA outpost in the middle of a Canadian forest and take it out. Except they’d been much better equipped than the intel had suggested – outpost might have been an understatement. Stronghold was probably closer to the truth. Or fortress. – and in no time at all, Peter and Mr Stark had ended up separated from the rest of the team. Add an unexpected perimeter explosive and some aggressive guards, and now they’re out here, lost in the forest, and Mr Stark has been impaled. Shrapnelled. Kebabbed. Right through his suit. It’s still sticking out of him.

“Kid, listen to me–“

“No. I’m not gonna do that.”

Mr Stark’s hand, still grasping Peter’s cheek, forces him to turn his head, meet his eyes. “They didn’t follow us out here. Why? They know we won’t survive. You need to try and find the team, buddy.”

“I have no idea where they went. HYDRA isolated us deliberately. They were slick.”

“Your best chance is if you go and look for them.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Peter says, “so don’t even try.”

“Peter–“

“You wouldn’t leave me. You can’t expect me to do the same.”

“That’s different.”

“ _How_ is it different?”

“You’re just being wilfully stubborn now–“

“So are you!”

Mr Stark looks like he’s going to say something else, but his face drains of its last traces of colour and he clutches his side. “Let’s not fight, okay? No – no arguing.”

Peter shuffles forward, hands flitting everywhere. “What can I do?”

“Nothing _to_ do, Underoos.” Mr Stark sighs, rests his head back.

“Don’t go to sleep!” Peter sharply, and shivers. His heater is on full blast, but it’s nothing against a violent Canadian winter. “Mr S-Stark.”

“‘S’okay,” Mr Stark murmurs. He still has one hand on Peter’s cheek, and starts gently stroking his thumb back and forth. His eyes are closing.

“Don’t do that, come on!” Peter moves forward again, practically kneeling in the man’s lap. “Mr Stark, please – don’t do this, not like Ben, please.”

A beat of silence, then one eye cracks open. “Y’re a manip’lative child.”

“Yeah,” Peter whispers. Something wet rolls down his cheek. “Is it working?”

“Sure is.” Mr Stark tugs his arm gently, pulling Peter against his good side. “You’re cold.”

“S-spider in a snowstorm.”

“FRIDAY?” Mr Stark says. His voice sounds thin; Peter wonders how much blood he lost before the wound was sealed with webs, or what might have been hit internally.

_“The storm is still causing interference, Boss, I’m sorry.”_

“All right. Let me know as soon as you get a signal. No, scratch that – the instant you get a signal, you send a distress call.”

“Will do.”

“Peter,” Mr Stark says, “will you _please_ go? Before our footsteps are covered. You can still backtrack.”

“I won’t leave you.” Peter shivers again, harder this time. He’s scared, of course. It’s HYDRA. If they catch him, they won’t just kill him, and if he’s caught, he’ll be no help to Mr Stark. Besides, what if something happens while he’s gone? What if, alone, cold, in pain, Mr Stark…?

“You have to. Orders, kid. I’m not–“ Mr Stark clenches his teeth against a wave of something – pain, cold. “Not asking anymore.”

“What’re you gonna do?”

“Ground your disobedient little ass.”

“Then you’ll have to stick around for it.” 

Mr Stark huffs out something that could be a laugh and squeezes Peter’s shoulders. His eyes are slipping closed again.

“Stay awake, Mr Stark, please.” Another shiver, this one making his whole body shudder. “You can’t go to sleep.”

“Trying, buddy.” It’s barely a breath.

“Try harder.” Peter shakes him as hard as he dares, tries not to jolt anything. “ _Tony_.”

“Oh, _now_ you call me Tony, huh?”

“I’m keeping you talking. Come on.” Peter clutches the hand that’s wrapped around his shoulders. “Tell me something. Anything. Tell me about how real rock hasn’t been a thing since the nineties.”

“Rock went emo,” Mr Stark mutters, “‘n kids are calling punk rock rock. Idiots.”

“So kids these days are ruining rock?” Peter says. “Tell me more about your rock purism.”

But Mr Stark doesn’t. He smiles down at Peter with a melancholy that makes his gut twist. “You’re such a good kid, you know that?”

Peter shakes his head. “Mr Stark–“

“Well, unless it’s time to be smart and take care of yourself for once. You’re so – _good_ , Peter.”

“Stop,” Peter begs. He’s trembling, and not just because he’s cold to the bone. “Don’t do that.”

“You’re gonna be okay,” Mr Stark says seriously, but it looks like it’s taking all his energy to do so. “You will.”

“No, don’t – don’t say goodbye, please–“

“I love you so much, kid. So much.”

“Mr Stark.” Peter looks up. His eyes are closed. “No – no, no, Mr Stark, wake up, wake up – please…”

Nothing.

“Please wake up,” Peter whispers, huddling closer. The arm draped over his shoulders is limp. “Tony, please, don’t – don’t–“

He’s quiet, face pale. Still breathing. For now.

“I love you too,” Peter whispers. “Tony, please, I love you too.” He shakes him again, pleading for an answer that isn’t coming. “Please, wake up.”

Mr Stark doesn’t reply. He can’t hear Peter’s pleas to respond to them. 

Outside, the wind picks up again. Peter shivers and this time, he can’t stop. It feels easier to just rest his head on Mr Stark’s shoulder and let the cold take him. So he does. 

* * *

“Jesus Christ – quick, get them out–“

“No, careful. He’s injured.”

“Dammit. What about the kid?”

“Doesn’t look it, but they’re both unresponsive.”

“They look…”

“I know. Come on. Tony first.”

“How far out is the jet?”

“Two minutes. I don’t know if it’s got enough medical stock to try and get this shrapnel out, though.”

“The wound’s sealed for now. We need to get them warmed up.”

The thing Peter’s leaning on shifts, pulling him towards awareness, and He whimpers. He doesn’t want to wake up. It’s easier just floating, without the stabbing cold. 

“Kid, can you hear me? You need to let go of Tony, all right?”

No, he has to stay. He can’t leave Mr Stark alone.

“You’re sticking to him, Pete.”

“Just gonna have to get them both out together.”

“All right.”

He’s moving again, but he just knows – somehow – that Mr Stark’s with him, they’re together, and they’ll be okay–

And then warmth hits him and he blacks out again.

* * *

He blinks awake to bright white and cringes away, squeezing his eyes shut again.

“Oh, there he is.”

He tries opening one eye, squinting until it focuses. “…Rhodey?”

“Uh-huh.” Rhodey’s sitting in a chair beside Peter’s bed, chin in his hand, fingers splayed. “Gave us a damn scare, kid.”

Which is normal, except it’s usually Mr Stark sitting there telling him that–

“Oh my God!” Peter sits up so sharply his head spins. “Mr Stark–!”

“He’s good,” Rhodey says soothingly, “resting up. Compared to you, he was a fucking walk in the park. Nothing internal got hit, somehow. After that, it was just you and life-threatening hypothermia to deal with.”

“Snow,” Peter remembers. 

“Yeah. Snow. We almost didn’t get there in time.”

“He was saying goodbye.”

“He’s fine, kid, I promise.”

“Can I see him?”

Rhodey purses his lips. “You’re not supposed to be out of bed until a doctor gives the all-clear – okay, you’re getting up. Of course you are.”

Peter makes his way across the room, ignoring Rhodey’s sighs, and opens the door, only to nearly collide with a wheelchair going the opposite direction. He looks up, sees Pepper, and then Mr Stark.

“Kid,” he breathes.

“Okay, you _definitely_ shouldn’t be up,” Rhodey says. 

“It was either I took him in the wheelchair or he took himself,” Pepper says with a sigh of her own.

“Are – are you okay?” Peter stammers. “I mean–“

“I’m good, Webs, I’m fine.”

“You scared me,” Peter says quietly. “I thought…”

“I know.” Mr Stark reaches up, gently cups his cheek. “I’m sorry, kid.”

Rhodey clears his throat. “Pete, you really need to be in bed. Tones, stay in that chair or I’ll take you back to bed and sit on you.”

“That doesn’t seem very conducive to my healing process, honeybear.” 

“Your existence is not conducive to me having healthy blood pressure levels.” Rhodey helps Peter back into bed while Pepper wheels Mr Stark over. “Stay. There. Both of you.”

Pepper smiles down at Peter. “Your aunt’s in a room upstairs. I’ll go and let her know you’re awake.”

“Thanks, Miss Potts.”

“Keep him in line for me,” she says, and follows Rhodey out.

Once they’re alone, the silence fills the room. Mr Stark reaches over, doing a piss-poor job of biding his wince, and rests his hand on Peter’s shoulder. 

“Peter…”

“I wasn’t going to leave you,” Peter says firmly, staring at the wall.

“I know. It’s okay, kid. You were right – I wouldn’t have, either. You did good, trying to keep me awake.”

Peter glances sideways at him. “Trying.”

“Let’s see.” Mr Stark holds up his hand, counting each point off on his finger as he talks. “You webbed up the wound, keeping me from losing blood and stopping the shrapnel moving around any more, saving me from major internal injuries. You pretty much carried me through a blizzard until you found a safe place to shelter. If you’d left, like I was insisting, you probably would have died of cold and the others wouldn’t have found me in time, either, because it was Karen’s signal the team picked up in the end. So.” He shrugs. “Pretty full house of saving Iron Man there, buddy.”

“I thought I hadn’t,” Peter whispers. 

“But you did. And we’re both okay. Little banged up, but nothing we can’t handle, yeah?” Mr Stark’s hand moves to cradle Peter’s cheek again, swiping his thumb across, and only then does Peter realise he’s crying. “We’re okay.”

“Mr Stark?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you too.”

Mr Stark smiles, warm and gentle. “Love you, Itsy-Bitsy. Now get some sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up, I promise.”


	9. For the Greater Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter let out a deep sigh as he opened his eyes to the all-too-familiar blinding lights above him. He had lost all sense of fight in him months ago. Every damn day it was the same thing. 
> 
> He woke up in that terrible room. 
> 
> Alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, completely transparent moment - I am not a fan of this chapter. I didn't enjoy writing it, but I love you all so much that I wasn't going to give you guys nothing, so I hope you all enjoy! We'll be to better chapters soon :)

Peter let out a deep sigh as he opened his eyes to the all-too-familiar blinding lights above him. He had lost all sense of fight in him months ago. Every damn day it was the same thing. 

He woke up in that terrible room. 

Alone. 

They would send in food through the tiniest of doors. 

Peter would eat it, drink his water. 

It was never enough. 

He was always so hungry, so thirsty that he felt weak. Like a breeze could knock him from his feet. 

He would stare at the ceiling for a few hours, the collar on his neck suffocating him. 

Then both the best and worst part of his day. 

They would come in the room and drag him down the hallway. 

It was the worst because of where they were taking him. To be tested on. Every inch of Peter’s body would ache. They would do things… terrible things to him. Things he tried his best to push completely out of his mind. 

But the best part was that he would see them. 

They would offer him sad smiles and small waves. The smallest ounce of recognition. Peter’s reminder that he was human, that there was kindness in the world. 

Sam Wilson. Clint Barton. Wanda Maximoff. Scott Lang. 

Peter always found himself making eye contact with Sam. Falcon. They’d fought before. But not now. Now, Sam Wilson was the person Peter ached to see. It was his eyes. The dark brown of them acting as the one comfort Peter would get. 

When the guards drug Peter from his cell that day, he couldn’t stand. They’d done something to his hips yesterday, maybe yesterday? Time was weird here. Nonexistent. A thought that rarely crossed his mind. 

When they first brought him here, to this hell-hole, Peter had tried to count the days. Had thought, Mr. Stark wouldn’t let him be in here for any longer than a few days, hours maybe. 

But the days had melted into weeks, into months. And here he was, being dragged down a hallway, his hips barely working from the samples the doctors had taken the day before. He had stopped being able to lift his own head weeks ago. Between the small portions and the amount of healing his body was trying to do, it was no question why he had no energy. 

But, he would always look up. Peter looked to his right, to Sam Wilson. The man was standing, just like he always did. Pressed up against the glass, a sad smile on his face. Peter would just grin, doing his best to say that he was okay. 

They knew he wasn’t. 

Then they made it into the lab. 

Peter used to try and hold back his screams, trying to be stronger than that. But not today. 

Today the doctors wanted to see how much electricity his body could handle. 

It felt like hours of pain. He was dripping sweat by the time they finished with him. His muscle spasming with aftershocks, and Peter was pretty certain he smelt burning flesh. The doctors had put a splint in his mouth to ensure he didn’t break any teeth, and they ripped it from his mouth as they finished unstrapping him from the table. 

His guards gripped Peter’s arms and pulled him from the table. This time, he had no muscles left to use. His chin hung on his chest as the guards dragged him along. 

He watched the tiles change, wanting nothing more than to be tossed into his cell and left to slip. Every inch of him ached. 

But the guards turned. Peter’s chest clenched in fear. He didn’t have the strength to lift his head, he didn’t know where he was going! 

Then a door was opening in front of him. Not the usual white cell, but a grey cell, bigger than his. 

He was dropped unceremoniously, and Peter fell straight to the floor. 

“Remember, no funny business. Kid gets to stay here for one night. You can take care of him - actually, we don’t really care what you do.” Peter’s heart rate spiked. 

The door shut, and suddenly someone was flipping him over gently, and Peter flinched at the warm hands on him. 

Then he blinked in confusion. It was Sam Wilson. 

The man looked down at him, worry playing on his face. 

“Wh’t?” Peter croaked, the guards were never nice enough to let Peter spend any amount of time with the avengers. But here he was, and Sam was hauling Peter up, then he was laid on a cot. It wasn’t soft by any means of the word, but it was the softest thing Peter had been on in months. 

“I made a little exchange.” Sam said, grabbing a scratchy blanket and tucking it around Peter’s shivering form. 

“Wh-wh-what did you do?” Peter asked, fear for the man he had barely said two words to jumped into his chest. He couldn’t bear something happening to Sam. 

“You don’t worry your head about it. Just rest okay?” 

Peter wanted to argue, to scream that Sam couldn’t trade himself for this, but then Sam sat down on the cot, and began to rake his fingers through Peter’s hair gently. 

“I know you don’t really know me, but you were losing hope, kid. I get it, you are by yourself in that room. Hell, they’re doing shit to you that I don’t even want to think of… but we are going to get out of here? Okay? I just needed to tell you not to give up. And if I have to be their lab rat for a day in order for you to see a friendly face, I think I can handle it.” Sam insisted. Peter wanted to plead with Sam to take it back, but his mind was betraying him. 

Tears pricked at his eyes as Peter let out a shuddering breath. 

“You’re okay, now. Just try and get some rest.” Sam’s encouragement was all Peter needed. 

-

When the guards showed up to take Sam the next day, Peter knew it wasn’t worth it. He felt a renewed sense of energy. Sam just stepped up to the door, willing to be taken, willing to be experimented on, tormented. 

But Peter couldn’t let that happen. Not when Sam had given Peter the respite he needed. The newfound hope that they would be saved. 

So when the guards stepped in, Peter did something he hadn’t done since the first week. 

Peter attacked the guards. 

With a fury, Peter hit and punched. 

One of the guards turned on the collar - sending electricity sparking through Peter’s neck, but Sam jumped in alongside of him, going along with the play Peter was making. 

Peter hit the ground hard as the voltage continued, Sam grappling with the last conscious guard. 

Peter gasped and writhed as the electricity cut off his oxygen supply, his vision beginning to go dark. 

Then it all stopped and Sam was kneeling beside Peter, yelling at someone. 

With a  _ clink  _ the collar around Peter’s neck fell away, and he began choking on air.

“Stay here, I’m going to get the others out, just breath for a second!” Sam cried, racing to the cells around them. 

When all of the others were released, Sam and Clint dropped by Peter’s side while Wanda began messing with one of the guard’s phones. 

“Who do I call?” she asked, her voice trembling with adrenaline. 

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asked, his voice shaking as Sam helped him to sit up. 

“We’re on the run now, kid. All thanks to you.” Sam gave Peter a small smile before hauling him up to his shaking legs, tugging one of Peter’s arms over his shoulders. “Let’s get the hell out of dodge.” 

  
  



	10. they look so pretty when they bleed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May takes a deep breath. “Is he with you?”
> 
> “The kid? No. He hasn’t even replied to the last text I sent.” Tony flicks the call to speaker and pulls up his messages anyway. Nope, nothing new.
> 
> Message to: Peter Parker:
> 
> Sorry, kid, your aunt’s right. I screwed up. She’s right not to trust me. I’ve left Karen active. She’ll help you.
> 
> Read: three months ago 
> 
> “Well, he’s not back,” she says, very obviously fighting to keep her voice level.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a third of the way already!! thank you to everyone who's been reading!
> 
> ciara, back with early stages irondad. we love to see it. (sorry this is late it's like lunchtime here my bad)
> 
> warnings: blood, stabbing, tony is stressed so he says fuck a lot

Tony’s phone rings and he accepts the call without looking, focused on his computer screen. “Hello?”

_“Stark.”_

“Uh, Mrs Parker.” Tony is surprised, to say the least. The last time he’d spoken to May – spoken in the loosest sense of the word, she was mostly yelling at him – she’d made it _very_ clear that he was never to come near her or Peter ever again.

She takes a deep breath. _“Is he with you?”_

“The kid? No. He hasn’t even replied to the last text I sent.” Tony flicks the call to speaker and pulls up his messages anyway. Nope, nothing new.

**_Message to: Peter Parker:_ **

_Sorry, kid, your aunt’s right. I screwed up. She’s right not to trust me. I’ve left Karen active. She’ll help you._

_Read: three months ago_

_“Well, he’s not back,”_ she says, very obviously fighting to keep her voice level, _“and he has a strict curfew. I take the suit for a week if he breaks it.”_

“You think something’s wrong?” he says, heart jumping to his throat. He puts his phone down on the desk and silently sets FRIDAY to reconnecting with Karen.

_“Tracing...”_

_“Or he’s having a moment of teenage rebellion. Either way…”_ She sighs. _“I know you left backdoors into his suit.”_

“I…” Tony flounders for a second. “Okay, that’s true, but I just wanted to have a way – if anything went really wrong, you know? I know you hate my guts, and that’s entirely fair, but I care about the kid. I do.” Wow, that was a lot to admit, but he does. He’s had time – more than enough – to think about his brief relationship with the kid for the past three months, and every thought came to the same conclusion: he cares about Peter Parker a whole lot.

_“Well, you had a weird fucking way of showing it.”_

“Yeah,” he agrees, “yeah, I do. My therapist says the same. I give people things. I _make_ them things. I make weird necklaces and prosthetic leg braces and multimillion dollar suits with a super-advanced AI and a tracker in case they need to be found.”

May’s silent for a moment. _“Okay. I assume you’re already tracking his location.”_

“Trying. The back door I left is more like a doggy door that I need to squeeze all my systems back through – ah!”

_“What?”_

“Got a location. Down by the docks.”

_“Hello, Mr Stark.”_

“Karen. Good to speak to you again. How’s the kid?”

_“He has not moved for forty-five minutes now.”_

Tony’s heart plummets. “Fri, send that location to my suit. May, uh – I’m going to find him. Just so you know.”

He half-expects her to refuse, to remind him that she’d practically served him a restraining order without the paper, but she sighs again. _“Bring him home, Stark.”_

The relief leaves him shaky. Until the moment he relaxed, he hadn’t realised how tense he’d been. “Okay. Good. Karen, how about you stay on the line with Mrs Parker? Keep her updated, within reason.”

_“Of course, Mr Stark.”_

He didn’t program that name into her. Three guesses where she’d picked it up.

“Okay,” Tony says to himself, and shrugs into the suit, “docks, here we come. Karen, can I get a biometric readout?”

_“Peter’s vitals are concerning. He is experiencing a rapid drop in blood pressure and is struggling to stay conscious. I can also detect three separate puncture wounds.”_

Well, there goes Tony’s blood pressure, too, straight through the fucking roof. “Shit,” he says, and takes off. 

* * *

He lands outside a warehouse barely ten minutes later, frowning. What the fuck was the kid doing around here?

_“The tracker is inside,”_ FRIDAY says. _“One life sign detected.”_

“Right,” Tony says, and strides forward, pushing the door open; it’s almost pitch black inside. “Flashlight, please.”

FRIDAY turns the light on the side of Tony’s helmet on. He takes a couple of steps forward, only to stumble to a halt when he sees something dark pooled on the floor. 

“Is that…?” Of course it is. What else could it be?

_“I believe it is blood, yes, Boss.”_

“Shit.” There’s another dark red patch a little further in, and another. Some of it is smudged, as if someone had dragged themselves through it. Some puddles have footsteps leading away from them.

Nausea swelling in his throat, Tony follows the trail, tries to swallow down panic as it becomes more and more apparent that the injured person was crawling, pulling themselves across the floor, searching for somewhere safe. 

Not just a person. A kid. _The_ kid. 

Tony rounds a stack of crates – the tracker should be right here – and something hits him square in the chest, making him stumble backwards. He looks down, and it’s webs.

“Oh,” Peter breathes, “th’t it w’s you.” He’s sitting against one of the crates, one arm still outstretched, finger on the trigger for his webshooter. His mask is off, but that’s really the least of their concerns right now.

“Friendly fire,” Tony says, and crouches next to him. The blood. Where did the blood come from?

“You might’ve b’n him ag’n.” Peter’s other arm is wrapped around his torso. “How’d y’find me?”

“Told you I left Karen in your suit. That was for a reason.” Tony folds his helmet back. “You thought I was who, kid?”

“Tombstone,” Peter gasps out, and coughs. Something red splatters against Tony’s gauntlet.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” he says out loud, without meaning to. Peter’s eyes widen. “No – no, don’t panic.”

“Y’re p’n’ckin’.”

“I’m not panicking–!”

“Super p’nicking.” Peter grimaces.

“No,” Tony says. A pause. “Okay, a bit. Let me see, kid. How bad is it?”

“Bad, pr’bly,” Peter says with a wheezing laugh, and lifts his other arm up.

_Bad,_ _probably_ is an understatement. Understatement of the fucking century. There are three stab wounds, two in Peter’s stomach, one in his chest. Blood is welling up, spilling out, at an alarming rate; Tony tries not to do the calculations in his head, but that’s a _lot_ , that’s a fucking lot of blood. How much can a human lose and survive? What about an enhanced teenage boy with the survival instincts of a fucking lemming? And what if something internal was hit?

“FRIDAY, can I pick him up? Is he safe to carry?”

_“Yes, but I calculate Mr Parker will sustain critical blood loss before you are able to get him to the Compound.”_

No. _No_. This isn’t fair. Peter’s a kid. A child. He hasn’t had a chance to live. He’s supposed to do great things, to be better than Tony ever was. Tony hasn’t had the chance to apologise to him, to May. 

FRIDAY’s still talking. _“…staunch the bleeding, he might–“_

“What?” Tony says roughly. “What, Fri?”

_“If you could staunch the bleeding, he might survive the journey.”_

“With what?” he demands. _Don’t panic, don’t panic._

Peter raises a shaky hand again, twisting it so his webshooter is pointed towards him.

“Kid?”

Three shots, and there’s a makeshift bandage plastered over each wound. Peter grunts, winces, but it’s better than nothing.

“Oh,” Tony says softly, “shit, kid, you’re brilliant.”

_“Boss, time is of the essence.”_

“Yeah. Okay.” Tony reaches forward, pauses. How does he do this? A fireman’s lift would probably hurt Peter and jostle his wounds too much. Over the shoulder, likewise. “Kid, I’m gonna pick you up, okay?”

“‘Kay.”

He settles for sliding one arm under Peter’s shoulders, the other behind his knees, and lifts, cradling the kid against his chest. Peter bites his lip, but doesn’t make a sound.

“Hang on. I mean, obviously, I got you. Just – an expression.”

“‘S’this…” Peter trails off, his eyes drifting somewhere distant.

“Hey, no,” Tony says sharply. “Stay awake, kid. Don’t tap out on me, not now. Your aunt would literally kill me.”

Peter frowns, but he focuses back on Tony. “‘S’this a hug?”

“Not exactly. This is I’m saving your life.”

“W’gotta stop meetin’ l’ke th’s,” Peter mutters, his head lolling as Tony starts to walk.

“Are you delirious, or do you think you’re actually that funny?” _Keep him awake. Keep him talking._ It’s like a mantra in Tony’s head.

“Sh’tup, ‘m h’larious.”

“Uh-huh. Going up now. You better stay awake for this. Not everyone gets to see the kind of views I do.”

Peter grumbles something wordless but clearly annoyed.

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I _inconveniencing_ you by saving your life?”

“V’ry m’ch so.”

Tony laughs as he folds his mask back over his head and takes off, taking care not to jostle anything. “Gonna make some calls, kid. Feel free to eavesdrop.” He doesn’t know if Peter can hear him – no mask, so no comms – but the kid’s eyes are still open, so Tony takes that as a plus. “Fri, call Hogan for me.”

_“Calling.”_

_“Boss?”_

“Sorry, Hap, I know you’ve clocked off already.”

Happy sighs. _“What’s happened?”_

“I need you to get over to Queens and pick up May Parker, please.”

_“May Parker? The same May Parker who threatened to disembowel you with a blunt spoon if you or anyone who knew you came anywhere near the kid again?”_

“The very same. Bring her to the Compound and show her to the Medbay.”

_“Shit,”_ Happy says, and it sounds like he’s running. _“Is the kid–?”_

“Hanging on for now. He stopped the bleeding–“

_“Bleeding?”_

“She’ll know what it’s about, just – fetch her, please. End call.” Tony glances down at Peter nestled in his arms, and shifts him so his head is resting more comfortably against Tony’s shoulder. “Still with me, kid. That’s good. You’re doing good. Uh, Fri, inform medical about this, please.”

_“Already done. Helen Cho is preparing to treat Mr Parker, and I have informed her about his enhancements.”_

“Atta girl. Go find whatever you can on the guy who did this. Gravestone?”

_“Tombstone, Boss.”_

“That’s the one.” Tony glances down again. “Not too much longer, Pete, okay? I got you.”

* * *

Tony fucking hates hospitals. 

The smell of them, the god-awful colour schemes, the harsh lighting, the hush.

This medical wing is his, so it’s at least a little tasteful, but it’s not immune to the quiet, broken only by the beeps and whirrs telling him that Peter’s still alive.

He’s just sleeping, but he looks so pale, so lifeless, not at all like the Peter Tony’s come to know. In the end, it was a simple fix relative to what it could have been; what Tony had thought was coughed-up blood was just a bitten tongue. It could have been so much worse.

The door opens and it’s May, looking frazzled. She crosses the room, takes one of Peter’s hands. “Thank God. I thought he’d have to have major surgery or something.”

“Fortunately not,” Tony says. “Nothing vital got nicked. Well, apart from him. He had a transfusion from a universal donor – we didn’t have any of his blood – and about forty stitches in total.” He stands. “Uh, please, sit down. I’ll leave you two–“

“I asked them to bring in another chair,” May says. An invitation. An olive branch.

As if on cue, an attendant backs through the door and sets the chair down on May’s side of the bed. They both sit in silence, facing each other and the kid between them.

“I had a long conversation with Karen,” May says eventually. “Very informative. She’s very…gentle.” She brushes a strand of hair off Peter’s forehead and looks up at Tony. “I don’t know a lot about that kind of thing, but I know she must have been programmed to be like that.”

“Well, I wanted him to feel encouraged, you know? Wanted her to keep him calm when things go wrong.”

“Like tonight.”

“Like tonight,” Tony agrees grimly.

“You know, if I hadn’t made you remove any way to contact you from the suit, he might have been able to call you for help.”

“You had every right,” Tony says. “I lied, I encouraged him to lie to you, I put him in danger – that shit’ll get you a proper restraining order. No need for spoon-related threats. I’d be contemplating murder, too. No jury would convict you.”

“Oh, rest assured, I was concocting something _extremely_ violent. It would’ve got me on several watchlists.” 

Tony grins.

“But tonight, you…” She shakes her head. “I was wrong about you, Stark.”

“Always pleased to defy expectations.”

“Do you really care about him?”

“I – yeah.” Somehow, Tony’s little circle has expanded. “You’re right, I didn’t do a good job. The team had broken up. Rogers – well, I was still hurting in a lot of ways. I didn’t want to let anyone get close, and I didn’t want him to see…that. The hero worship’s still kinda cute.”

“But you gave him the suit.”

“Yeah. You see a kid swinging around fighting crime in his pyjamas – I couldn’t not give him a hand.”

May nods. “If you’re in, you’re all in, Stark. It’s all or nothing. No telling him to call Happy instead, no dismissing what he’s telling you. I don’t care that you thought you were keeping him safe – you never do anything to make my kid that upset ever again.”

“Absolutely,” Tony says. He hopes she can see how earnest he is. He wants to be there for Peter, wants to stop it from ever getting this close again.

May appraises him for a moment longer, lips pursed, before she reaches across the bed, hand extended. “Then you’re in.”

“Pleasure to be aboard, Mrs Parker,” Tony says, and shakes her hand. 

“Wha…?” Peter mumbles. They both look down to see him staring at them with heavy-lidded eyes. “Why’re you friends?”

“Well,” Tony says, trying not to come off awkward and probably failing, “I don’t know if she’d say _friends–_ “

“Friends with a common cause,” May says. “Go on back to sleep, baby. Promise I won’t kill him. Might kill the guy who did this, though.”

“Big crime boss,” Peter agrees sleepily. “Night.”

“Sleep well, kid,” Tony says, and watches as Peter sighs and closes his eyes again.

“He was going after a crime boss by himself?” May whispers, looking faintly horrified. 

“So it would seem.”

“He’s very grounded. Do you agree?”

“Am I allowed?”

“Yes.”

“Then, yes. Grounded.” Tony grins. “I think I might go mad with power.”

“The thrill will wear off when he strops around for a week.”

“Let me enjoy it.”

“And this – internship. I understand it was a convenient lie, but he needs something. Some regular contact with you.”

“Is this permission, Mrs Parker?”

“Consider your restraining order lifted, Mr Stark.” May sighs again. “He’s going to do this no matter what we say, isn’t he? Spider-Man.”

“Yeah. Fancy suit or not. He’s Spider-Man, not the suit.”

“I’m going to go grey,” May says. “Every time he goes out, I lose years off my life.”

“Always here to help.”

“You better be,” she says, with just a touch of warning in her tone. “I don’t give a lot of second chances.”

Tony believes her. He nods, makes a mental note to introduce her to Pepper. They’ll get on well. The room is quiet but for the beeps and whirrs of machines, and they sit in comfortable silence, watching Peter sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's about the coparenting


	11. Psych 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh God,” was Mr. Stark’s response. 
> 
> “I-I-I’m under- oh God - I’m underground! Mr. Stark - I can’t, I can’t breathe.” Peter insisted, and he couldn’t. His chest was a boa constrictor tightening around its prey. Squeezing, suffocating him until his heart would no longer be able to pump blood, until his lungs failed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Back again with chapter 11! This is one of my favorite tropes and maybe my favorite chapter I’ve written so far! I hope you all enjoy it! Thank you again for all the support you’ve given us!

It was so dark.

That was his first thought. It was so dark in here that he wondered if he were in the sensory deprivation room Mr. Stark had created for him. But the pulsing pain in his head and stiffness in his joints told him this wasn’t going to be quite as pleasant as the room Mr. Stark had for him. 

Peter took inventory of his body, wiggling fingers and toes to check and see if anything was broken. His left wrist was sore, sprained, he decided. 

Peter took a deep breath, and started taking into account where he was. It was dark - completely black. He couldn’t see anything. 

Peter could tell he was laying on flat wood, maybe a boat dock somewhere? It wasn’t until he moved to sit up, trying to figure out exactly where he was, that he knew. 

His head slammed into a wooden top, maybe six inches above his face. 

Peter’s already aching head pounded with pain, stars flashing across his vision as he laid back down. He could feel blood on his forehead from a previous hit, already congealed. 

Peter’s heart stammered as his situation began to set in. He lifted a foot and kicked out, coming into contact with a wooden base.

In a panic, Peter began to reach around, finding the harrowing truth.

He was in a box. 

No, he was in a casket. 

He needed to get out - now!

Peter’s fingers fumbled around his pockets, he sent up prayers that his tormentors were dumb enough to leave him his phone. 

He felt a small object in his pocket, and a rush of hope raced through him. 

Peter pulled it out, finding a flip phone. 

HIs heart stammered as the blue screen lit up when he flipped the top. Peter forced himself to take steadying breaths, watching the phone screen load. 

He tried his best not to think about the similarities to homecoming night. But his body was betraying him. 

Peter’s fingers trembled as he typed in Mr. Stark’s phone number, barely able to hit the numbers or even recall what the numbers were.

He managed to get it out, and hit the green call button. Peter pressed the phone to his ear, holding it with both hands to keep it steady.

The phone barely got half a ring out when Mr. Stark answered.

“Who the hell are you?” the man questioned, his voice dark. 

Peter took in a shaking breath, feeling like he got no oxygen from it. 

“M-Mr. Stark?” 

The man’s entire demeanor changed immediately. “Peter? Where are you? Are you hurt?” 

Peter didn’t know why hearing Mr. Stark’s voice immediately made tears well up in his eyes, but he blinked them away. 

“I-I don't know where I am…” Peter said, his voice trembling as he tried to build up the courage. Because he knew one thing about his location. 

He’d been able to feel it since he woke up. 

It was cold, really cold, and every time he moved a few specks of something would fall down into the – the  _ coffin _ . 

He was buried. 

Just thinking it was enough to make his heart rate skyrocket.

“Are you hurt?” Mr. Stark repeated, and Peter shook his head before realizing the man couldn’t see him. 

“I-I’m underground,” Peter whispered, his chest constricting at the thought. “I’m in a coffin.” 

“Oh God,” was Mr. Stark’s response. 

“I-I-I’m under- oh God - I’m underground! Mr. Stark - I can’t, I can’t breathe.” Peter insisted, and he couldn’t. His chest was a boa constrictor tightening around its prey. Squeezing, suffocating him until his heart would no longer be able to pump blood, until his lungs failed. 

“Hey, Peter - I need you to calm down. I’m going to be completely real with you, you only have so much oxygen in there, and I know you deserve to panic right now, but I really need you to focus on taking even breaths, okay?” 

“Okay, okay, okay,” Peter stammered, focusing on forcing himself to breathe.

“I received a text with your location… I’m on my way, alright?” Mr. Stark’s voice was so firm. Final. He was going to get Peter out. 

“What? Why would they give you my location? Mr. Stark, I don’t -” 

The man didn’t say anything, and Peter could hear it in the silence. 

He was too far away for it to matter. 

“How far?” Peter asked simply. 

“That doesn’t matter. I’m already on my way, Rhodes is meeting me there.” 

But it did matter. 

And suddenly it hit Peter like the cement building had. 

He was going to run out of air. He wouldn’t be able to breathe, he would die of carbon dioxide poisoning before anything else. It was already getting stuffy in the coffin. 

Peter hit the wooden top, dropping the phone away from his ear. He could hear Mr. Stark vaguely calling his name, but all he could think was 

_ Out _

__ __ _ OUT _

__ __ __ _ OUT! _

Peter kicked and jerked, throwing hands up against the wooden coffin and pushing as hard as he could, but nothing moved, the dirt was too heavy, there was too much pressure and too little air, and Peter was going to lose his mind. 

When his labors proved fruitless, he fell limp against the coffin, breathing heavily as silent tears raced down his face.

“I-I-I can’t die like this, Mr. Stark, I can’t do it,” Peter cried as he pulled the phone back to his ear. He could hear the faint rush of wind against the suit, but all he could think was that it wouldn’t be on time. 

“I’m coming, Pete. I’m coming now.”

_ That will have to be enough,  _ Peter thought, resigning himself to wait. 

-

Peter could feel the poisoning setting in. His head was pounding and he felt like he was about to throw up. Even trying to move his head left him dizzy and lightheaded. 

It was getting bad. 

He was still nervous, but the true fear seemed to be going away the more fatigued he got. Peter closed his eyes and let out as deep of a sigh as he could manage.

“Pete!” Mr. Stark cried. 

Peter blinked his eyes open and gave a grunt of acknowledgement. 

“Han-hang on,” Peter muttered, doing his best to turn his head to the side of the small box he was in before he was throwing up the little bits of water and the breakfast he’d eaten. Peter gagged, choking out the last bit of it before he went boneless against the floor of the coffin once more.

“Just hang in there, buddy,” Tony encouraged, and Peter wanted to. He really did. 

“Hang in where?” he asked, his mind blanking out on him as he tried his best to figure out where he was again. 

“Pete?” Mr. Stark. Where was Mr. Stark’s voice coming from? 

Peter realized he was holding the phone in his hand. 

“Oh, hey Mr. St’rk,” he slurred, blinking heavily as his breaths began to come in shorter gasps.

“Peter, I need you to stay awake, I’m landing now, we’re going to start digging. But you have to be with me, alright?” Mr. Stark encouraged, but Peter knew he was losing the battle. 

He was calm though. It was just like sleeping. Those last coherent moments before you step off. 

“Th’nks, Mr. St’rk.” 

-

When Peter woke up, it was to a terribly strange sensation. Breaths being forced into his lungs of their own accord. 

Then he was choking on air, and someone turned him over as he coughed and gagged, gasping like a fish out of water. A warm hand rubbed his sweat-soaked back as he continued to heave and tears and snot ran down his face.

“Alright, just take some deep breaths, Pete.” That was Mr. Rhodey. 

Something was strapped over his face, and cool oxygen began to pour into his lungs. Peter wanted to ask what the hell had happened and then it hit him like a slap to the face.

He started to sit up, panic clenching at his chest, but Rhodey and Mr. Stark held him down.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Mr. Stark assured, rubbing circles on Peter’s chest. “Just breathe, we got you out.” 

Peter’s watery eyes found Mr. Stark’s and he let out a shaking sigh. 

“Okay, okay,” he said, watching as Mr. Stark sat down heavily on the ground, his eyes red and clearly exhausted as he slumped over. Peter wanted to keep talking, but his eyes began to droop down, exhaustion taking over as the oxygen mask did the work for him. 

“Just rest, we’re going home,” Mr. Stark reassured him, a hand running through Peter’s hair as he felt a heavy sleep wash over him. 


	12. i think i've broken something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What were you thinking?”
> 
> “I–“
> 
> “Actually, I’ll answer that. You weren’t.”
> 
> “Mr–“
> 
> “You know how I know that? Because you never do!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me? writing something bad happening after an argument? it's more likely than you think
> 
> sorry this is short. i'll make it up on day 14!
> 
> warnings: broken bones, compound fracture

_“Okay, kid, I’m gonna need you to clear the area.”_

Surprisingly, Peter doesn’t argue. Rhodey seems to have that effect on people. 

_“Perimeter at least two blocks, possibly more – and it’s gotta be dynamic, we’ll keep you aware of our movements, how the fight’s going. Your job is to keep civilians out of the firing line, you clear?”_

_“Yes, Mr Colonel Rhodey, sir,”_ Peter calls cheerfully.

Tony glances down as he flies, watching the blue and red shape swing from building to building, keeping up with him and Rhodey easily. “Where’s that respect when I’m talking to you, Parker?”

_“I’ve seen you dance with Dum-E to Come On Eileen, Mr Stark. The hero-worship is gone.”_

Rhodey snorts. _“Come On Eileen, Tones?”_

“I have it on good authority that it is a certified banger.”

Peter laughs.

_“Okay,”_ Rhodey says, business-like again, _“coming up on the target now. Kid, start looking for civilians.”_

_“You got it – oh!”_ Peter’s form swerves and darts down a side street. _“Ma’am? Ma’am! It’s not safe around here – yeah, I can take the baby…”_

“You go left, I go right?” Tony suggests.

_“On it.”_

They finally reach the thing they’re supposed to be fighting, the thing that FRIDAY had flagged on Twitter even before some government official had called about it. It looks like a spider, maybe, four long legs with a body suspended between them – and then it gets weirder, because the legs glint in the light like they’re mechanical and they’re sprouting from some sort of rig the man is wearing on his back.

_“What the fuck?”_ Rhodey says.

“Yeah.” Tony slows, hovers, takes aim with one arm. He fires a single blast, and the strange creature jumps to life, crawling forward, limbs swinging. “Oh, awesome. Nightmare fuel.”

Rhodey fires his repulsors, and that’s enough to get the thing to stop and turn, one limb shooting out so fast he almost doesn’t dodge it.

“Oh, they stretch. How fun.” Tony squints as he aims a little rocket and fires. The explosion knocks the thing off balance, and the man yells in rage, limbs swinging, one heading straight for Tony’s chest.

“Mr Stark–!”

A blur of red and blue flashes through Tony’s vision, lands on the rooftop in front of him. Peter. He takes the blow, already braced for it, but still stumbles back a couple of steps with the force of it. 

“I said stay back!” Tony yells. Peter just – jumped in front of him. Without a second thought. 

Another arm comes flying around, catching Peter in the shoulder, and the kid cries out, lets go. He’s yanked off the roof and into the air by one ankle, struggling to get free.

Tony fires. A frantic hail of repulsor blasts hits every metal limb in a matter of seconds, and the man growls in frustration and drops Peter. All the way down.

“Shit!” Tony hisses, and lands on the street. In the corner of his HUD, FRIDAY highlights the four-legged thing climbing up the side of a building, disappearing out of sight. “Dammit.”

“Tones!” Rhodey lands next to Peter, helping him to his feet. “Perimeter’s clear for a couple blocks, but that thing could move fast. Probably gone to ground. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Tony growls, and stalks towards Peter, who’s tugging his mask off. He’s still shaking – adrenaline, the aftershocks of terror, and now anger. “What were you thinking?”

“I–“

“Actually, I’ll answer that. You weren’t.”

“Mr–“

“You know how I know that? Because you never do!”

Peter snaps his mouth shut, but his chin is trembling. Tony ignores it.

“Every time, there’s always some reason – always some _excuse_ – why you can’t just stay back, stay out of the way, do as you’re told. Why can I never _trust_ you to _do as you’re told_?” 

“I’m sorry,” Peter tries. “Actually, I’m not–“

“Of course you’re not.”

“I was trying–“

“To throw yourself into danger? Yeah, I know. Standard for you.” Tony stops himself, makes a huge effort to calm down. The hot flash of anger is fading. Shit, he just yelled at his kid. “Listen, just–“

“I’ll go,” Peter says. “I – I’ll just go home. Karen will tell me if this guy shows up again. We can deal with him then. I won’t bother you.” He looks so _small_ all of a sudden, hunched in, arms crossed over his chest. He looks defeated.

“No, kid–“

“Bye, Mr Stark.” He doesn’t even swing away, just shuffles down the street, head hanging, until he turns off the block and out of sight.

“Oh, wow,” Rhodey says. “Well done.”

“He’s–“

“Peter, I know. So I’m going to fetch the Quinjet, and you’re gonna go after him and fix it.”

Tony shakes his head. “He scares me, Rhodey. He – God.”

“Of course he does. That’s what kids do. Doesn’t mean you yell at them until they cry.”

“I didn’t mean – he’s a reckless idiot, Rhodey. And I have a heart condition.”

“Karma,” Rhodey says cheerfully, and Tony rolls his eyes and turns to head after Peter.

He has to take off to catch up, not exactly keen on jogging in his suit, and banks around the street corner, landing about thirty yards behind Peter. “Kid–“

The shadows move.

There’s a shape – something – perched on the side of a building, looming over Peter like goddamn Shelob – and Tony yells, starts forward, takes off, but it’s too late, because a long arm reaches down, plucking Peter off the ground and flinging him into a wall with a sickening _crack_.

Tony, in his infinite wisdom, age and experience, proceeds to lose his shit. 

He snarls something that would have made Jarvis blush and Aunt Peggy slap him upside the head, and fires a missile at each limb. One of the blasts glances off and hits the little rig the man’s wearing like a backpack, and the legs all spasm for a second, twitch, before jerking back into motion.

“Target his cute little rucksack there, Fri. How’s the kid?”

_“Karen is reporting some damage to her systems affecting biometric readouts, but Peter is currently alive and stable.”_

“I’ll take alive.” Tony sizes up the octopus-spider-nightmare scuttling towards him and takes off again, swooping around so he has a clear shot at the man’s back. He fires.

One of the mechanical legs deflects the blast, flicks it away like a fly.

“…okay.” He takes aim with both hands this time and fires, again and again, hoping one of them finds the target. The man moves, twists, always trying to keep his pack out of Tony’s line of sight, always blocking his shots.

Until one of the mechanical arms jerks to a halt, until another foot starts straining to free itself from the ground, and Tony glances to the side to see Peter, still lying on the ground, one arm outstretched, gripping the web attached to the leg with all his strength. 

“Quick,” he gasps, and Tony doesn’t waste another second.

His repulsor blasts hit the rig dead-on, and all four limbs sag limply, fight gone. The man collapses to the sidewalk.

“Is that it?” Tony says. “We done?”

_“The threat appears to be neutralised, Boss.”_

“Great.” He lands beside Peter, who’s flopped back down on the sidewalk, eyes closed, breathing laboured.

He can instantly tell which side of Peter took the brunt of the impact. The left side of his face is grazed and bruised, his left forearm so obviously broken. His leg…

Oh, fuck.

The bone is sticking out of Peter’s thigh, barely visible through a mess of blood and mangled flesh, but definitely there.

“Shit,” Peter wheezes, his eyes flying open. “Oh – oh, _shit_ , oh–“

“I know,” Tony says. “Try and breathe slowly. I don’t know what shape your ribs are in.”

“Think’ve broken something…”

Tony huffs. “Oh, really?” 

“Hurts,” Peter gasps, “please…”

“Jet’s on the way. It has the good stuff.” Tony takes his unbroken hand. “Squeeze as hard as you want. Cry. Swear like a fucking sailor.”

Peter, of course, does none of that. His eyes, glassy with pain, meet Tony’s. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no, we’re not doing this now. Absolutely not.”

“I could sense – I just knew–“ Peter grits his teeth. “He was about to hit you, and I just – just moved, like, instinctively – I didn’t mean–“

“Stop doing that,” Tony orders. “I wasn’t mad.” He pauses. “Okay, I was mad, but the anger was facilitated by some very real, heartstopping fear, which is what you cause me to experience on a regular basis by being so recklessly selfless. Of course I trust you to have my back, kid, and everyone else’s. I just don’t know you’ll take care of yourself, and that – that’s scary.”

Peter arches his neck a little, closes his eyes. His hand clenches around Tony’s gauntlet, and a few tears escape, trickle down the side of his head.

“Okay,” Tony says, gentler, “I know it hurts, but moving’s gonna make it worse. Just try and breathe.”

“Tony…”

“I’m here, kid. It’s okay.”

“My bone is sticking out of my leg, isn’t it?”

Tony must hesitate a little too long.

“Oh, fuck.”

“I can fix it,” Tony says, gently, firmly. He just wants to make it _better_. “Well, not me, personally. But it’s gonna be fine. It will. I’ll make it fine. Better than fine.”

“You’re doing that thing–“ Peter forces out through his clenched jaw.

“No, I’m not? What thing?”

“Nervous rambling.”

“I do not. This is not a thing.”

Peter looks like he’s about to retort, but the Quinjet swoops by, circles, before landing carefully in the street. 

“Might need the stretcher out here, Platypus,” Tony murmurs into the comms. “How far out are SHIELD? They need to take care of Octopus Man.”

“Two minutes. Let me get the gurney ready.”

“This is just embarrassing,” Peter complains.

“Oh, yeah,” Tony says, reaching out with his free hand and brushing an errant strand of hair off Peter’s forehead. “What am I here for if not to humiliate you?”

“Literally anything?”

“That’s a parent’s prerogative, Pete.”


	13. Breathe In, Breathe Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I-I think I screwed u-up,” Peter said, his voice sounding as though he’d been a dedicated smoker for thirty years. 
> 
> “Okay, I’m on my way. It shows that you’re home, what's going on?” 
> 
> “Well, I can’t really breathe right,” Peter choked out, forcing himself to sit up as he leaned over on his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is elane's chapter! i'm just posting for her today, and normal service will resume soon
> 
> warnings: blood, chemical pneumonia

Peter woke up feeling like shit. 

He hadn’t felt like this since before the spider bite. 

His chest was burning, and every time he inhaled and exhaled, it felt he was breathing in sand, grating against his lungs that sounded wet and gargled. 

He  _ knew  _ something was so wrong. 

Peter reached for his phone, his eyes catching on the alarm clock that said it was three a.m. Peter pulled his phone up to his ear after hitting Mr. Stark’s number. 

The man’s phone rang twice before an answer. _“Peter? What’s wrong?”_ The man sounded too awake for Peter’s liking, but he could hardly think about anything other than the ache in his chest as he let out a deep cough, his lungs and back screaming in pain. 

“I-I think I screwed u-up,” Peter said, his voice sounding as though he’d been a dedicated smoker for thirty years. 

_ “Okay, I’m on my way. It shows that you’re home, what's going on?”  _

“Well, I can’t really breathe right,” Peter choked out, forcing himself to sit up as he leaned over on his bed. May was on her night shift, but Peter knew Mr. Stark would have alerted her by now. “I think it…” He took a deep, grating breath before coughing into his hand. “I think it has something to do...with the fact that I… fought a guy, in a chlorine storage building today…* I knew that it affected me, but I think that it really -” Peter grabbed his chest, as pain seared through him. “I think it did something to me.” 

_“Alright, alright, I’m almost there, okay?”_ Tony said as Peter let his head rest on his knees. 

He may have blacked out, or he was so caught up in trying to breath properly that he didn’t hear Mr. Stark enter the apartment. 

Then warm hands were on his back, helping him sit up. 

“Pete?” Peter blinked up at Tony and gave him a firm grimace. “Alright, let’s get you to the tower, okay? I have a feeling you got a little bit of chemical pneumonia going on, alright?” 

Peter nodded, before coughing again, frothy blood coming up to his lips as Mr. Stark helped him to his feet. 

Tony gripped under Peter’s upper arm and led the two of them out to the elevator of the apartment building. Peter’s wheezing was slowly getting worse and worse as the man settled Peter into the front seat of the audi. 

“Alright, here you go… five minutes and we’ll be at the tower,” Tony said, cranking the heat up in the car as Peter began to shiver. 

“Th-thanks,” Peter said, turning his head as his entire body began to rack with coughs. Peter continued coughing, his back spasming as he continued to cough and cough, his brain shattering with the pain. When the fit finally left him, Peter went boneless against the seat, tears falling from his eyes at the lack of oxygen. 

Tony turned to look at Peter, and he felt fear in his chest when he saw the kid’s blue-tinged lips. 

“One second, just hang on, pal.” 

When Tony pulled into the garage of the tower, his med team was already waiting outside, he’d barely put the car in park when people were helping Peter out of the car and getting him set up on the gurney. 

An IV line was immediately placed in his arm, and an oxygen mask over his face. Peter continued to cough as one of the medics set up a nebulizer into the oxygen mask. A blanket was placed on Peter’s lap as they began to wheel him into the med-bay. 

“Tony! I’m going to get him set up on a regimen of antibiotics and keep him on a nebulizer treatment. We’ll keep an eye on him and make sure we see consistent improvement,” Cho said, walking alongside Tony into the tower. “With his healing rates, of course we’ll be cautious, but I have hope for a quick recovery. I’m going to go look at his blood samples, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I know more.” Cho broke off in one of the hallways as Tony slipped into Peter’s room.    
May was on her way to the tower, but Happy had texted saying they’d ran into rough traffic on the way. 

“Mr. Stark?” a nurse said, stepping in front of Tony. “We have just given Mr. Parker a low-level sedative and muscle relaxer that Dr. Cho synthesized for him, it should help him with the muscle pains and ensure he gets some rest. He may be awake for a bit, but I doubt he’ll be too coherent. Just alert FRIDAY if you need anything.” 

Tony gave the nurse a slight nod, before sliding his chair up closer to Peter’s bed when she shut the door behind her. 

“Hey, pal. How are you feeling?” Tony asked as Peter looked over out him around the oxygen mask that took up most of his face. 

Peter just gave Tony a shaky thumbs up. “Do’n ‘right,” Peter said, coughing a bit as his eyes slowly lowered to half-mast. 

“Good to hear. Well, Cho is on top of this, so you get some rest, and I’ll be right here when you’re up,” Tony said softly. He could tell Peter was doing his best to keep his eyes open, but the kid quickly lost the battle, going limp on the hospital bed as Tony listened to the huff of the oxygen mask. 

Tony let out a heavy sigh, leaning forward to pull the blanket higher up to Peter’s chin. “Alright, then, kid. Get some sleep,” Tony muttered, his own eyes growing rather heavy as he let his head fall back on the chair he was sat in. God, he owned this place, and he couldn’t have bought more comfortable chairs? 

Tony guessed it didn’t matter as his eyes slowly drifted shut, exhaustion pulling him under alongside the kid. 

When May and Happy arrived, Cho caught them before they went into the room. 

“Hello, Mrs. Parker.” 

“Cho, not that I don’t enjoy your company, but I always dread our meetings,” May said with a huff, pulling his cardigan tighter around her body. 

“I understand, but this time is pretty fair news. Peter has a nasty case of chemical pneumonia, but I’ve curated an antibiotic that should knock this out of his system within a couple of days. He’ll be tired and sore, but he will be okay. I had a couple of extra chairs brought into Peter’s room, and I’ll be in to see you guys in a couple of hours.” 

“Thank you, Cho,” May said, meaning every word. When she turned to walk into the room, she found Tony Stark - Genius, Billionaire, Playboy, Philanthropist - sat in a chair next to her boy, sound asleep, his mouth wide open as he and Peter matched snores. 

May had to bite back a smile as she grabbed a quilt from the closet, sitting in her chair next to Peter, grabbing her boy's hand. She found herself greatly appreciative of the billionaire that had taken special interest in her boy - greatly appreciative of the family they’d curated together. 


	14. is something burning?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter walks.
> 
> It’s been hours. He knows he can’t survive much longer out here, but he’s never going back there, back to his perfect, clean-cut life. He hates the City.
> 
> So much, apparently, he’s decided to take his chances out here, in the searing heat, the sand, this lawless desert. Every step he takes is pain – sand itching the back of his throat, hot air burning his nose, blisters on his feet. But he can’t go back. He’s in the Zones now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *prepares to out myself as a former scene kid* it’s not a phase, mum!!
> 
> if you know what danger days is, this is that. if you don’t, this is set in a post-nuclear apocalypse californian desert where most of the survivors live in a domed city controlled by Better Living Industries, while a few rebels live in the desert which is divided into ‘zones’
> 
> the people who live in the desert are very superstitious and have a fascinating culture, and there’s a whole load of interesting lore around this album that i couldn’t fit in here, so if anything isn’t clear, feel free to ask!
> 
> ~ ciara

Peter walks.

It’s been hours. He knows he can’t survive much longer out here, but he’s never going back there, back to his perfect, clean-cut life. He hates the City.

So much, apparently, he’s decided to take his chances out here, in the searing heat, the sand, this lawless desert. Every step he takes is pain – sand itching the back of his throat, hot air burning his nose, blisters on his feet. But he can’t go back. He’s in the Zones now.

Another step, and another. The sun is searing, and he has to raise a shaking hand to cover his eyes. He’d never appreciated how much the dome protected them; from the sun, from the wind. They’d been told the ozone layer is all but nonexistent now, almost all of it burned away in the Helium Wars, but Peter had known, even as a child, that it couldn’t be true.

Either they were lying about that, or about the existence of Zonedwellers in an allegedly uninhabitable desert. He’s about to find out which.

A hot gust of wind blows sand into his parched mouth, so he pulls the hem of his shirt up to cover the lower half of his face, wishing there was some way to protect his eyes, too.

And then, in the distance – a building. Shelter. 

Peter stumbles towards it, the hope of shade and maybe even a drink spurring him on. He knocks, listening for an answer, and pushes through the door when he hears no response.

He’s barely taken one step into the coolness of the shabby building before his knees give out and he hits the floor. 

* * *

“What the hell…?”

“It’s a kid.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty fucking obviously a kid.”

“A city kid.”

“Shit.”

“Is he…?”

“I don’t know, man.”

“Well, check! Before someone else comes in, sees him wearing white, and shoots first.”

Peter peels open one sticky, gritty eye, willing it to focus.

“Oh, hey. He lives.”

Two people are standing over him, presumably the owners of the voices. He looks a little harder. Their clothes have to be the strangest things he’s ever seen – the materials, the _colours_. And then his gaze finds the ray guns hanging at their sides.

_Oh_.

The City is full of Wanted posters, almost exclusively zonerunners, with warnings to inform the authorities if they’re spotted and a ranking, depending on how dangerous they’re deemed to be. Peter had walked past them every day on his way to the Academy, and he recognises these faces instantly.

“It’s you,” Peter whispers, before he can stop himself. His voice is a pathetic croak.

_The Iron Men. Wanted dead. Level 5 Threat._

One smiles behind the bandana covering the bottom half of his face. “Ah, our reputation precedes us.”

Peter flinches away, curling into himself. “Please don’t kill me.”

The smile turns to a confused frown. “And yet reputations can be greatly exaggerated. Since when do we kill children?”

“Look at his clothes, man,” the other one says. “Fresh out the City. The brainwashing is strong with this one.”

“Mm.” The man crouches down. “What you doing all the way out here?”

“I walked.”

The one standing behind Peter shakes his head. “Oh, fuck me.”

Peter blinks at the swear word. People in Battery City don’t cuss. 

“Not what I asked, but damn, kid.” The one crouching holds out something – a clear bottle. “It’s just water. Drink it slowly, or it’ll come right back up.”

Peter slowly reaches out and takes it, wincing as his burnt arms ache like a bruise.

“Yeah, that’s gotta hurt. I’ll have a look in the back and see if there’s anything to help with that.” He gets up and walks away.

They didn’t kill him. Peter unscrews the cap, takes a sip. He’s been warned about them for years. Meeting the Iron Men means instant death. So why is he still alive?

The one still in the room with him moves, making him jump, but he just follows the first man into the other room.

“Hey, help me with this.”

“What are we gonna do with him?”

“What do you mean?”

“What’s the plan here?”

Peter idly wonders if they know he can hear them.

“Get him outta those clothes, for starters.”

“Iron. What are you _planning_?”

A pause. “He’s just a kid.”

“He’s a fucking city slicker. He hasn’t been out here five minutes and he’s already nearly died.”

“What can we do? If we leave him, he’s going to die out here one way or the other. If he goes back, they’ll kill him, or worse.”

“Fuck you and your big heart.” 

“The Zones are a lonely place, Patriot. Gotta be kind where you can.”

“What are you gonna tell people? He’s not even a Zone rat. He’s too green to pass as one.”

“He’ll learn.”

“He’ll fucking have to.”

Peter pretends to be preoccupied with the water bottle when they walk back in. They dump an armful of stuff on the floor, and one clears his throat.

“Hi.” The same man as before, his eyes looking almost kind over his bandana. But that’s impossible, because Zonedwellers are cruel and savage. “I think we got off on the wrong foot here.”

Manners. Peter can do that. “Uh, yeah. My name is–“

“Whoa!”

“No!”

“What?” Peter squeaks.

“Be careful with your name, kid. We don’t throw them around out here.”

“You have to have names.”

“Sure. I’m Iron, and he’s Patriot. But our real names – not a lot of people know them. Out here, you have to leave everything behind.”

Peter takes another sip of water. He thinks he’d known that, but hearing it – it makes it permanent. No going back. There’s nothing in the City for him, anyway. Not anymore. 

“Here.” Iron holds out a pile of clothes, a little bottle lying on too. “Go get changed into these, and use the lotion on your burns. We better burn your whites, too.”

“It’s not all white,” Peter argues weakly. _Why did I say that?_

“Sorry, do you mean your light grey jacket? Not exactly helping your case here, kiddo. Take ‘em off, quick.”

“Why?”

“Why? Do you know where you are?”

“The Zones.”

“Damn right, you’re in the Zones. Walking around in white is a fucking death wish, kid. People will think you’re working for the company.”

“Better Living?”

Iron frowns. “Did the sun bake your brain in your skull? Are you cooked?”

Peter’s stomach rumbles.

“That’ll be it. Think I saw some tins back there. Help yourself.”

Peter climbs to his feet, unsteady, and gathers himself enough to say, “Thank you.”

“No worries, kid.”

“Um, where am I? What – what is this?”

“Store shack in Zone Three,” Patriot says. He’s standing by one of the windows, staring out at the sand. “People top it up with extras after they do a supply run, others can come and take what they need. Pay it forward. There’s a couple in every Zone.”

That sounds…surprisingly civilised. Almost like a working system, like some semblance of an economy. They were never taught about this in the Academy. 

Peter walks slowly into the other room, staring at the graffiti on the shabby wooden door: bright, noisy colours; chaotic swirls and shapes. It’s messy, but somehow – right. An intrusion of colour on a surface where it shouldn’t belong, but does. After a life of sleek glass doors and white buildings, it’s a welcome change.

He can’t go back to Battery City. They were right. He’s – he’s defected. 

“Kid?” 

He jumps.

“I know you’re hungry and tired and dehydrated, but staring at the door ain’t getting us anywhere. You look polka-dotty.”

“Sorry,” Peter stammers, and ducks through the door. 

* * *

Peter watches his clothes burn. 

They’ve been piled in a metal trash can outside and set alight. The soft material catches quickly, turns grey, crumples, until it’s indistinguishable from everything else in the garbage can. 

The two men are going back and forth, loading up their car, murmuring quietly. They’re giving him a minute, and he appreciates it.

“We loaded up?”

“Yeah.”

“Then we better chase dust before someone sees the smoke.”

“Yeah.” A hand lands on Peter’s shoulder. “Kid?”

“Mm?” Peter still feels dizzy and shaky, although his sunburn isn’t as painful as it was. The sun is setting, the temperature dropping. 

“Do you have anywhere to go?”

“No,” Peter whispers. “Like you said, I can’t go back.”

“Well, you better start thinking of a name. I can’t keep calling you ‘kid’ forever.”

Peter catches the implication. “You…?”

“If you want.”

“I – I don’t know.”

“Full offence, kid, but what exactly was your plan?”

Peter shrugs. “Get out. I – my family’s all gone, and – well, children in the City – you either get lucky or you don’t.”

“The Lobby isn’t bad. Less dangerous than out here.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know that–” Peter catches himself. “They don’t _want_ us to know that.” The desert is hostile, uninhabitable, almost unsurvivable. The Zonedwellers are all dangerous killers. The Lobby is a lawless slum. Lies. All lies.

“It’s control.” Iron gently taps the side of Peter’s head with one finger. “Fear. If everywhere else is so unsafe, then Better Living Industries is the only thing that can keep you safe, so you have to live their way. They feed you that shit your whole life. Propaganda.”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s go, dust angels!” Patriot calls, clapping a hand on top of the car. “Sun’s going down.”

“Everything’s going to be different, isn’t it?” Peter says quietly.

“Yes,” Iron says. “Very. But you got us, kid. You’re gonna be alright.” He holds out his hand.

* * *

It is different.

* * *

It’s lying on the hood of the car, blanket wrapped around his shoulders to hold off the chill of the desert night. Iron is lying next to him, bandana loose around his neck. He knows every star by name like old friends, knows all the shapes they make. 

Peter could never see the stars through the dome.

“If you learn ‘em enough,” Iron says, “you’ll be able to use them to find your way. If you know the Zones well, you’ll never be lost. Not really.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You trust the Sun, and the Sand, and they’ll take care of you, and if they don’t catch you, the Phoenix Witch will.”

He’s heard of the Witch, the one who collects you when you die. Peter doesn’t balk or shiver at the thought; he almost feels comforted. 

“You’re a part of the desert now, and it’s a part of you.”

* * *

It’s hopping over a fence, ignoring Iron’s furious, terrified whispers, sneaking towards the BLIND storehouse. 

He jogs towards the building, pulls his bandana up, glancing in every direction in case of any Drac patrols, and slips inside.

_White_. White walls, white floor, white ceiling, white shelves holding white cans, white-labelled water bottles, white ration packs. Peter screws up his face and starts to load up his bag.

He works quickly, stuffing as much as he can in the ancient duffel bag, before turning and leaving the same way he came in. He takes another second to check for any BLIND guards, and sprints back towards the fence, throwing the bag over before hopping it himself.

“Dammit,” Iron is saying, clutching his chest, “fucking hell, kid. You stupid little – what the fuck, spider monkey?”

“I’m faster,” Peter says with a shrug, “and I was careful.”

“Carefully giving me heart failure. Jeez, kid.”

“I wore my mask.”

“You always need to wear your mask. You don’t get special fucking cookies for it.”

_Never let them see your face._

Patriot shakes his head, pulling his bandana back up over his nose and tossing the bag in the trunk. “Let’s move. Come on.”

“Get in the damn car, spiderling.”

“Yep.” Peter climbs into the backseat, and Iron guns the engine. “I’m a spider, huh?”

“Idiot spider boy. That’s what you are.”

Peter turns, tries to look out of the rear window, but Iron’s driving so fast he’s kicking up a huge dust cloud. “I like Spider.”

“Spider,” Patriot says. “Suits you, that’s for damn sure.”

* * *

It’s hanging from his wrists in the middle of a white room, burns stinging, bruises throbbing. He spits blood. It stains the floor.

“Last chance, Parker.” The Exterminator knows his name. They’d ripped his bandana off, scanned his face, pulled up his City file.

_Die with your mask on if you got to_. He’s fucked that.

“Tell us where the others are.” The Exterminator leans closer, so close their noses almost touch. His ray gun presses into Peter’s stomach, burning, scorching a brand to match the rest of the burns from the Dracs using him as target practice. “I know you know. Just tell me, and I can recommend that you be rehabilitated.”

Yeah, Peter knows what that means. Pills. Compliance. Brainwashing. Swearing loyalty to the company for the rest of your life. Fuck that. He won’t give them up. Not Iron, or Patriot, or the Avengers, or any of the others he’s met. 

“Screw you,” he wheezes, and smiles, feeling the movement open up his split lip again.

The Exterminator scowls minutely. “Termination of Defector one-zero-zero-one. Execution for treason. Resistant to interrogation.” His grim face cracks into a blank smile. Empty. No real emotion. “One less Zone rat to deal with.”

Peter lifts his chin, despite his exhaustion, despite the pain, and stares him down. He stares as the Exterminator steps back, stares as he lifts his blaster away from Peter’s skin, stares as he levels the barrel at his head.

“Desert scum,” the Exterminator hisses.

Peter closes his eyes against the white flash of light, waiting for the end. 

Thud, like a body falling to the floor. Not him.

“City slicker,” a familiar voice snarls, and Peter grins without opening his eyes. 

“You’re late.”

“You’re a fucking idiot.” Iron pulls out his old switchblade and picks at the cuffs until they fall open. “We’ve hit just about every BLIND outpost past Zone Two. All the way down the Getaway Mile. What have I told you about supply raids by yourself, huh?” He pulls Peter’s wrists out towards him, hisses as the deep indents. 

“Thanks for busting me out,” Peter says. “They weren’t the best company.”

Iron pulls him close for the briefest moment, one hand on the back of his head, before he pulls away. “Let’s make tracks, kid.”

“My name isn’t Kid.”

“You’re always gonna be a kid to me.”

* * *

It’s heating up their pilfered cans over a fire, one eye on the sunset, one eye watching for dust clouds on the horizon.

Patriot’s wandered off to keep watch – and probably to take a piss behind a cactus. Peter’s just made a wry comment about _no wonder there’s so many plants alive out here with us all watering the weeds_ , and Iron shakes his head, says, “Goddamn, kid,” in his happy-fond-exasperated way.

There’s no build-up, no planning, just–

“My name is Peter.”

Iron pauses, jaw slack, eyes wide. A name – a real name – is a gift, one you give to people you love and trust, and who love and trust you back. He looks almost dumbfounded to be entrusted with Peter’s.

“I was thinking – that time, the other week – it’d be a stupid shame to die with only an Exterminator knowing who I was.”

“Like I’d ever let that happen,” Iron says, then, quieter, “Tony.”

“Tony,” Peter repeats.

The Sun slips down out of sight and the stars come out.

* * *

It’s dragging himself along the scorching ground after a particularly nasty clash down Route Guano. Their car is crumpled against a rock a few hundred yards away, smoking from under the hood. Peter thinks the only reason the Dracs had peeled away was because the Exterminator in charge of the patrol assumed they were dead.

He feels halfway there.

With a grunt of pain, a huff of effort, Peter rolls over. The Sun is beating down, harsh, unforgiving, and he wonders if he’s owed to her, if he’s been living on borrowed time since they found him in the storehouse. She seems to smile, reach out friendly arms – and nope, he has to find shelter, has to get away before he’s nothing more than a wavehead, brain full of static, sitting out every day to get high off the Sun’s radiation.

He finds an overhang, wonderfully cool shade, and takes stock of his injuries. More blaster scars to match the burns from when he was captured. Something cracked in his chest. Bloodied nose from where his face had smacked into the dash.

Peter grits his teeth and keeps going. Iron was with him. He must be out here somewhere. 

Unless they took him. Fuck, what if they took him?

He keeps crawling, sand burning his palms, until his fingers find a boot, half-buried, and then Iron’s red and yellow leather jacket. Iron is coated in a thin layer of sand, like the desert is trying to reclaim him, the Sand grasping what the Sun can’t reach. 

_You belong to the desert, in life and in death._

“Iron,” Peter breathes, reaching for his hand. Nothing. “Come on – you gotta be in there somewhere – fuck, don’t – don’t leave – you’re not getting dusted, not like this – Tony–“

Iron’s hand twitches, then grasps Peter’s fingers, squeezes. “Not today.”

Peter doesn’t know if Tony’s talking to him or the Witch, but he clings to it anyway, because _not today not today._

They stay like that, curled up together in the shade of a boulder, until the first group of Zonies arrives, Patriot with them, and lifts them out of the sand.

* * *

It’s learning Rhodey’s name. It’s learning to drive their new car, Tony clutching the side door for dear life as a wheel bounces over a stone on the road. It’s watching the stars, dancing to the kind of music Peter had never heard before coming to the desert.

His life is loud, fast, angry, bright.

It’s target practice with ray guns using a cactus, and laughing when they miss. It’s painting a spider on the hood of the car, Tony rolling his eyes to hide his grin.

It’s living life on the outskirts, dancing around the city borders, safehouse to safehouse, Zone to Zone, one eye on the sky for any flashes of white. It’s never stopping, always running. _Keep running_ , they say, _keep running, boy, keep running._

* * *

In the dusk, outside a run-down shack, smoke in the air, sand bleached white in the twilight, Tony Stark holds out his hand. Peter Parker takes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> be like the killjoys. wear a mask.


	15. Into the Unknown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keep going. Higher. The voice urged. Not his. 
> 
> He began climbing once more, higher. 
> 
> Higher. 
> 
> Higher. 
> 
> Up and up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Elane here! Sorry for being MIA for a day! I was in the middle of moving! (Yay, exciting but very hectic times!) and here is chapter 15! HALFWAY DONE! I'm not going to lie, it feels like we've been doing this forever, but the support this has received has been incredible!
> 
> A few warnings for this chapter: Suicidal actions (thoughts, kind of, but the prompts were mind control and possession... do with that what you will.)

Everything is underwater. His head. His thoughts. His memories. Peter can’t think, can’t do anything but walk. Like a robot that has been programmed to go one place. Mindless. He doesn’t care though. He’s so calm, everything is calm. 

He knows what he has to do right now. 

So when he walks to the edge of Stark Tower, and begins to climb up the outside of it, nothing feels wrong. Despite the raging snowstorm around him. Despite the fact that he was only wearing a sweatshirt and jeans. Despite the fact that he didn’t have a mask on. 

Peter climbed. 

He watched the glass under his hands, saw his face, his own empty eyes. 

Peter felt as though he should be feeling something, like he was missing something vital as he climbed higher and higher. He paused for a moment, fighting against the voices in his head that told him to keep going. 

Peter looked down at the ground and all he could think was that a fall from this height would surely kill him. 

_ Keep going. Higher.  _ The voice urged. Not his. 

He began climbing once more, higher. 

Higher. 

Higher. 

Up and up.

Peter made it to the top of the tower, and the wind raged around him, snowflakes sticking to him as he stood on the slick edge of the building, looking out over the vast skyline of New York. 

He loved this city, loved the people. When he looked out at night, and saw the thousands and thousands of lights, he imagined each light as a life that he worked to protect. 

He would sometimes just sit and watch, thinking of the life he’d curated for himself. He had a family now, people that he loved. 

Peter was hit with a slam of emotions. Why was he standing here? Was he going to jump? He didn’t have his web shooters, didn’t want to jump. 

He was knocked a few feet back, grabbing at his head before standing up straight, stepping back up to the ledge. 

_ Jump. You want to. You need to.  _

He wanted to. He needed to. 

“Peter, I am required to initiate the “Fledgling” protocol when you are on a ledge at any height over twenty feet without your suit. Mr. Stark has been alerted to your location. Please, step back from the ledge.” 

Peter could hear her speaking, knew that it was coming from the watch Mr. Stark had gifted him, but the words didn’t register. Mr. Stark? His location had been sent… to Mr. Stark? 

“Peter? I’m asking you, as a friend, please step back from the ledge, just wait until Tony arrives.” He felt warmth. In his chest, spreading into his fingertips. Karen was his friend, she offered help and kind words. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to jump. 

_ DO IT! NOW! _ The voice rammed straight into his brain, washing out every other thought as he doubled over in pain.

_ Step off the ledge, Peter. Now.  _

Without a second thought, Peter leaned forward, wind and snow swirling around him as he plummeted towards the ground. 

He wasn’t scared. Didn’t feel anything. 

A force slammed into Peter, encasing him in something, and then his limbs were moving of their own accord. His arms and legs stuck out in front of him as the ground loomed closer, and repulsors were firing off, and he barely missed the ground, flying up back towards the landing zone on the tower. 

He was in an Iron Man suit. 

“Peter!” A voice came in over the speakers. 

_ Don’t Respond, you need to jump, you have to jump.  _ The voice pelted into his mind, and Peter wanted to get it out, it  _ hurt!  _

“Out-get out!” Peter cried, the suit setting him down onto the landing pad, before opening itself.    
_ Jump. You need to jump, you have to jump!  _ The voice was screaming now, and Peter looked at the ledge, moving to step out of the suit when strong arms grabbed at him. 

“Peter! Stop!” He knew that voice. Something about a star and blue tights, and a frisbee… a frisbee? No, a shield. 

The arms tighten around him, but the voice just screamed and Peter felt himself crying, as he fought against the person behind him. 

“Dammit! Where is Strange?” Someone asked from in front of him, and Peter found himself looking up. His eyes finding the man’s in front of him. Brown eyes greeted him, and for a moment, Peter felt a flash of fear. Terror gripped him as the voice in his head screamed for him to jump. 

Peter cried out, leaning forward as it all became too much. 

Peter vaguely saw something gold sparking from out of his peripheral. 

A sharp pain slammed into Peter’s head, and his vision went white as he began to shake, his muscles seizing as he went stiff. Choking noises came out of his mouth as the voice and his consciousness fought against one another. 

“Strange, fix him now!” 

“Stark, I’m doing my best! There is dark sorcery going on inside of him.” A new voice spoke as warm hands rested on Peter’s temples. 

Warmth flowed through him, but the freezing cold voice pushed back, and Peter’s body continued to seize as he cried out in pain. 

“Hang on, Peter!” Someone said, but he couldn’t - he couldn’t. He was frying, his brain felt like it was melting inside of him. “This is going to sting.” 

Then his vision went dark. 

Peter woke up on the ground, something being stuck into his arm as an oxygen mask was fitted over him. He looked up to see Mr. Stark looking down on him. 

“Hey, kid. Just rest, okay? We’re going to get you on some stuff to help you sleep, and I’ll be here when you wake up alright?” The man soothed a hand through Peter’s hair as a blanket was pulled up to his chin. 

“I-I-I didn’t… I wasn’t going to…” Peter tried to speak around the exhaustion of the drugs and the events of the past day, but Tony just hushed him.

“You’re okay. It was a sorcerer, alright? We know it wasn’t you. Just rest.” Peter gave a slight nod as he took a deep breath in. By the time he exhaled, he was already sound asleep. 

  
  



	16. a terrible horrible no good very bad day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This has to be one of the worst days of Tony’s life. Definitely up there.
> 
> He’d been clotheslined by a door with the power of a Hulk behind it. Loki had escaped with the Tesseract. He’d had a whole conversation with his father and somehow missed that Jarvis was standing right there until it was too late. They’d lost Natasha – God. His Compound had been blown up. He’d nearly lost Rhodey.
> 
> But Peter’s back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're over the halfway point! we can't thank everyone enough for all your love and support 💕
> 
> it's 'hallucinations', with a side of 'forced to beg' and 'kill the hostage'
> 
> warnings: extremely temporary character death, infinity stone fuckery

This has to be one of the worst days of Tony’s life. Definitely up there.

He’d been clotheslined by a door with the power of a Hulk behind it. Loki had escaped with the Tesseract. He’d had a whole conversation with his father and somehow missed that Jarvis was standing right there until it was too late. They’d lost Natasha – _God_. His Compound had been blown up. He’d nearly lost Rhodey.

But Peter’s back. Every time he remembers that, it’s an emotional jumpstart, a kick of joy, relief, _love_. He loves the kid so much. And now he can _tell_ him. Not that he hadn’t tried, but Peter was being Peter, rambling at a million miles a minute, and his voice was such a welcome sound that Tony had just let him talk before pulling him into his arms.

A flash of light makes him jump, brings him back to the present. 

_“Eyes up, Tones,”_ Rhodey warns in his ears.

Tony checks the little nanotech pouch on his side once again, comforted by the yellow glow. They’d taken the Stones out of the gauntlet and split them up, hoping that Thanos wouldn’t be able to get all of them. This new Thanos, who had apparently followed them back through time – or forward.

Strange has his Time Stone back – not exactly his, but still. He should know how to deal with it. Thor has Reality. He thinks T’Challa took Power, but they keep passing them around, playing catch, Hacky-Sack with the fundamentals of the universe–

_“I’m sorry,”_ Thor says over the comms, sounding out of breath. _“He has the Reality Stone.”_

“Don’t worry, big guy,” Tony says. “It’s only one. Who has the Power Stone?”

_“I got it!”_

_Peter. Shit._ “Don’t touch it with your skin–“

_“I know! One of the suit arms has it – these are so awesome, by the way, Mr Stark!”_

Tony grins. “Thanks, kid. Now focus up.”

_“I have the Soul Stone,”_ Rocket grunts. _“No, Quill, Gamora ain’t in it.”_

_Natasha_. Tony swallows down the grief and keeps fighting. They just have to kill Thanos, just take down his whole, huge army, and kill him. But they’re together this time. The whole team, the Guardians, Wakanda, the Order from Kamar-Taj. Surely everyone they have will be enough.

It has to be enough.

_“Tony.”_ It’s Rhodey’s voice, tonged with panic. Rhodey never panics. “ _Thanos has the Power Stone.”_

_Peter_. Peter had the Power Stone. “The kid–“

“Stark!” That’s Thanos, his roar booming across the battlefield. FRIDAY highlights him, standing on a flat piece of land. He’s holding something – a figure on their knees, struggling, fighting. Armour glinting.

_No._

_“Tony – Tony, don’t–“_

He lands.

“Stark.” Thanos takes a step forward, pulling Peter with him by the hand around the back of his neck.

Tony is frozen. Feet rooted to the ground. Is he even breathing?

“I saw you,” Thanos continues, “in my traitorous daughter’s memory drive. So many memories of you. Talking about the son you had lost. Going further back, I saw you hold him as he died.” He drags Peter around in front of him, ignoring his struggles. “I’m sure that’s not something you wish to experience again.”

“Get the hell _off_ me–!”

“The Stone, Stark.”

“Don’t,” Peter says, still trying to prise Thanos’ hands from the back of his neck. 

“The Stone, or your child’s head. I assume you have a preference.”

Peter kicks and scrabbles, his feet finding no purchase against the Titan’s powerful grip. Thanos glances down at him, his expression almost pitying, before looking back at Tony.

“A simple exchange, Stark.”

Tony reaches for the pouch, willing the nanites to move aside just enough for them both to see the glow. He can feel the power, its will to be used. It's itching for something to do; it doesn't care what, as long as the one holding it is strong enough. And Thanos most certainly is.

“Don’t!” Peter cries again. “Mr Stark–“

“Quiet!” Thanos snarls, and his hand clutches tighter. Peter gasps, his words choked.

“Stop!” Tony says, loud, blood rushing in his ears, and he’s begging, but he just got Peter back, he can’t lose him again. “Please, don’t. Don’t hurt him.” But if Thanos gets all the Stones, they all die anyway, an entire universe razed to the ground.

“Give me the Stone.”

Tony must hesitate a moment too long, because Thanos clenches his fist, _twists_ , and Peter’s head lolls lifelessly, hands falling to his sides. Tony chokes and Thanos sighs, tossing Peter forward so he rolls along the ground, limp.

“Peter?” Tony whispers. His knees hit the ground, and he shuffles the few yards towards him. “Hey, Pete?” 

Peter’s eyes are open, but they’re staring at nothing, and there’s a trail of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. Tony shakes: with fear, with the _impossibility_ of what he's seeing, but he can't look away. The battle raging around them doesn’t matter. Thanos doesn’t matter. It’s just Peter. 

“Hey, kid, come on. Come on, I just got you back.” Tony reaches out with one trembling hand, stops when he feels something rolling down his cheek, reaches up to scrub it away. “Peter – Peter, kid–“ _My kid. My kid._

Tony never told him he loved him. 

“Peter…” He reaches out again, but just before his fingers brush Peter’s chest, the kid flickers, like a glitch, and then peels away like paper folding, disappearing into red light.

“–not real! Mr Stark, I’m here – it’s not real! Tony!”

Tony looks up, a sob catching in his throat, and meets Thanos’ smug gaze. Peter is still struggling in his grasp, horrified eyes fixed on the spot just in front of Tony, the spot where his corpse just was.

The Reality Stone. That’s all it was.

“Now, as you can see, we are both serious about what we want. So: the Stone. This time, it won’t be an illusion.” Thanos raises his other hand, holds up the Power Stone, and begins to lower it towards Peter’s temple.

“Stop!” Tony yells. They’ve done this before, but on another planet, in another time, with another Thanos. It’s not Strange bargaining for the whole universe; it’s Tony bargaining for his kid.

Peter closes his eyes.

“Let him go, and you can have it.” Tony reaches in, letting his suit absorb the Stone’s power, and lifts it out. Something moves in the battlefield behind Thanos, twin flashes of light.

“You have spirit, child,” Thanos says quietly. “I would be proud to have you as one of my warriors.”

“Keep dreaming, man,” Peter mutters, but Thanos pushes him forward and releases him, lets him stumble into Tony’s arms.

“Here.” Tony holds the Mind Stone out, not quite looking Thanos in the eye, but at somewhere behind his shoulder. “Catch.”

He tosses it up in the air, a shining light in the dust and smog of the battle. Thanos steps up to catch it, arm outstretched – but before he can, a blast of red energy hits the Stone, joined by a beam of white light.

The Stone explodes into minuscule shards, raining down like snowflakes, settling in the dust.

Thanos screams, but Tony’s already taking off, his arms wrapped around Peter’s torso, and Carol lands, intercepts the blow from the Power Stone, pushing Thanos back towards Wanda, who’s oozing rage.

With a gasp, Tony lands, one hand already reaching up to check Peter’s neck.

“I’m okay,” Peter whispers, a little hoarsely, “I’m okay.”

The Mind Stone is gone. Thanos can’t get all six. They’ve already almost beaten him.

And fucked up a whole timeline.

No, Loki had already fucked it up. It can’t get worse than a rogue god of mischief on the loose with the Space Stone trapped inside an energy cube. The missing sceptre will just be details at that point.

“Mr Stark?”

“Ah, you called me Tony. No take-backs.”

“Tony,” Peter says, “it wasn’t real. I’m okay.”

“Oh, Peter,” Tony whispers, and grasps the back of his head, presses a long kiss to his kid’s forehead. _Tell him now. Tell him before something else happens._ “I love you, kid, I love you so much.”

Peter leans forward, burying his nose in the crook of Tony’s neck. He’s shaking. Tony’s shaking. 

“What happened?” the kid says. “How did they do that?”

“Danvers and Maximoff both got their powers from Infinity Stones. Takes a Stone to destroy a Stone, I guess.”

“Cool,” Peter breathes. “And he – he can’t get all six now.”

“Nope.”

“We can do this.” Peter pulls away, bright with hope and optimism. “We can beat him.”

And Tony believes him. “Yeah, buddy, I think we might.”

They might. They could. They could finish this, and Tony will get to go home. Peter can come home.

Peter grins, his mask folding back over his face. He’s Spider-Man all over. “Shall we?”


	17. I Did Not See That Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Karen, can you take a message for me?” He asked, his voice shaking a bit.
> 
> “Of course, Peter. Recording now.” 
> 
> “Hey, um, Mr. Stark - I’m really sorry. About all of this. I don’t know who it is or what they want, but they… they have pictures. They know who I am. I can’t let anyone get hurt. Not the people I care about. Not because of me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooo! Chapter 17 here! Its crazy how few chapters I have left to write! I'm excited to get them done! Also, I LOVED writing this chapter and I really hope you guys enjoy it!!

Peter’s stomach twisted as he leaned back against the brick wall. He looked down at the photos in his hand once more. Three photos. Three crosshairs. 

May. Smiling. Taken through their apartment window. The red cross centered on her forehead. 

Ned. Chemistry class. The back of his head. 

Michelle. At her favorite coffee shop. CrosshairCrosshair directly over her heart. 

Peter had found the manila envelope on his bed. Waiting for him. Changing everything. 

It had one thing written on it.

An address.

He knew what it meant. 

Peter gave himself a moment to think. This could be the end of him. Any number of his enemies could be waiting for him. But it was clear what had to happen. He had no choice. 

“Karen, can you take a message for me?” He asked, his voice shaking a bit.

“Of course, Peter. Recording now.” 

“Hey, um, Mr. Stark - I’m really sorry. About all of this. I don’t know who it is or what they want, but they… they have pictures. They know who I am. I can’t let anyone get hurt. Not the people I care about. Not because of me.” Peter clenched his fists before looking back out over the city. “I love you all, and I really never wanted this to happen. Stop recording. Karen, wait thirty minutes, then send the suit’s location to Mr. Stark.” With that, he pulled the mask off his face. He couldn’t risk Tony finding him. Couldn’t risk May, Ned, and MJ. Peter pressed his hand against the front of his suit, and set it on the ground. 

Peter began to swing through the city, he quickly made it to the location set on the pictures. With a last glance back at the city he began to walk into the abandoned warehouse. 

Peter stepped into the crumpled building, surrounded by fallen bricks and cracked concrete, and immediately saw the man standing in the center of the room. He could feel more. His spider-sense spiking to one hundred. He was being watched. 

Peter stepped forward and saw someone he recognized instantly. Adrian Toomes. Liz’s father. The man who’d almost killed him. 

Peter had suspected that Toomes was back on the street for a while now, advanced tech popping up out of the blue, but he hadn’t been able to pin him down. 

“Hey there, Pedro.” The man said, a sick grin spreading across his face. “Sorry about the theatrics, but I have some major deals coming up, and I just can’t be worrying about your obnoxious ass getting in my way.” Peter watched the man shrug. 

“I saved your life. I could have let you die, and you repay me by threatening everyone I care about?” Peter asked, his tone dangerously uneven as he took a furious step forward. 

Toomes just gave him a slight frown. “You meddled in my business. You ruined my life. My family won’t even look at me, you’re just lucky I don’t go ahead and off your friends.” 

Peter felt his rage boiling over, and he took a firm step forward, but Toomes just held out a hand, and before Peter could react, an electrified net was wrapped around his body and he began to seize. 

He hit the ground with a thud, gasping for air as the net continued to shock him. His lungs ached for oxygen, and the last thing he heard was Toomes’ laughter before the darkness consumed him. 

* * *

Peter woke up to silence. 

Not quiet. 

Utter silence. 

To the point that he could hear his heartbeat, could hear as his organs worked and his lungs inhaled and exhaled. Every noise his body made was echoing throughout the room. 

Peter looked around, flinching as he heard his eyes blinking. The room was barely light enough for him to see in. It wasn’t large, and as far as he could see, there was no door. 

His heart dropped. 

He knew exactly what this was. He’d seen it on the internet. A room so quiet that it drove whoever was in it insane. So quiet they began to hallucinate after thirty minutes. No one had lasted longer than forty-five before begging to be let out. 

Peter sat back against the wall and shivered, the sound his rattling teeth made sent chills up his spine. 

He tried to focus on anything but the lack of noise. He had never really thought about how much he relied on his enhanced senses. 

Peter counted the threads on his jeans. Lost count at forty-two. 

Started over.

He had no clue how long he’d been in the room when he heard her laugh. Clear and crisp. Obviously MJ’s.    
Peter whipped his head up from where it had been resting on his knees. But he just saw the walls. Surrounding him. Dark. Encasing. Closing in around him. Trapping him forever. 

He was almost asleep when the voice cut out across the room. 

“Hey, kid.” Mr. Stark. Peter wanted to cry with relief. He was being rescued. 

He perked up from where he’d been laying down. 

With a rolling laugh he realized he was just going crazy. 

Eventually, he stopped looking up. Their laughter and voices played on repeat. He would hear car horns or bike tires squealing. The replaying of gunshots and Ben’s cries. May’s heartbeat and Ned’s laughter. 

Dum-E knocking over a cup of coffee. 

Mr. Stark talking. Singing. Hammering on a nail.

Mr. Stark saying his name. Over and over again. A mantra on repeat. 

Peter couldn’t say how long he’d been in the room. 

He just knew Mr. Stark’s voice. Over and over again. 

Then something touched him. 

Everything faded back in and Peter flinched because everything was suddenly so loud. He heard repulsors, and electricity, and someone else breathing, and yelling, and then he was being rolled over and looking up into the face of Mr. Stark.

Mr. Stark who was pale and shaking just so slightly. Peter could hear his elevated pulse and breathing. Wanted to beg for everything to stop as light flooded in and his head felt like it was exploding. 

“Shit, shit, hang on, Pete.” Mr. Stark said before he was talking to someone behind him, crinkling paper and the sound of a zipper. 

Then hands on him again, and Peter could feel every groove and could hear every movement, every transfer of energy - something was pulled over his ears, and he let out a deep sigh.    
The sensory overload earmuffs. They didn’t cancel out all the noise. They weren’t like that horrid room. They softened things. Brought his hearing down to what it used to be like before the spider bite. A pair of sunglasses were placed on his face, and Peter felt every ounce of tension drain from his body. 

“Hey, Peter, stay with me for a minute.” Tony’s voice was clear in his mind, and Peter forced his eyes to open. “I’m going to sit you up, then some of the med team are going to get you on the gurney okay? Have you had anything to eat or drink while you’ve been in here?” 

Peter wanted to say no, to shrug, to give any kind of indication that he’d heard Mr. Stark, but all he could do was blink heavily as he went boneless against the man’s chest. 

“Dammit, okay. Okay. Get him started on fluids now. He’ll have to eat once he has more energy. Someone get me a blanket.” Mr. Stark was all talking and demands, but Peter found him so warm. He hadn’t realized how cold he’d been. 

With a sudden realization, Peter gasped, fighting to sit up despite the exhaustion that threatened to drag him under. 

“Woah! Hey! Cool it, Cucumber.” Mr. Stark said, but Peter just continued to thrash weakly. 

“No, no - May, and Ned, and MJ! He - he knows!” Mr. Stark tried to hush Peter but he just continued to shake his head. “No! He knows! He’s going to…” Peter’s vision swam as he felt himself lay back against Tony. 

“I know, I know.” A prick in Peter’s arm. “I know, but we got him. He’s going away for good this time. Him and all of his men. You don’t have to worry about it. They’re not going to hurt anyone. Everyone else is okay, so let us take care of you now, alright?” 

And yeah. That sounded really good. So as they pulled a blanket up on him and settled him on a gurney, an oxygen mask placed on his mouth and fluids pumped into his body, he found himself finally resting. 

A hand settled into his own, and Peter let out a deep sigh of relief as the noise faded away with the world. 

  
  



	18. stitches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He dials the number and waits. It rings.
> 
> “I’m not sure how the fuck you got this number–“
> 
> “Mr Stark?” Peter whispers. How long has it been? He has no idea, but there’s a longing in his chest, a different kind of ache than his injuries.
> 
> “Peter?” Mr Stark says in the same quiet tone. “Pete – shit, is that you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> using an alt prompt for today!
> 
> warnings: some graphic descriptions of injuries and nonconsensual medical procedures

The bell tinkles as Peter pushes open the gas station door. The cashier, a guy around college age, looks up and his eyes widen in horror.

“Uh, Helen?” he calls.

An older woman hurries out from between the shelves, gasping when she sees Peter. “Oh–! Honey, are you okay? Where’ve you come from?”

Their reactions confirm that, however shitty Peter feels, he looks a hundred times worse.

“I’ve been…walking,” he manages. “Um, sorry, can I use a phone? I’ll stay here and you can watch me the whole time. I just – need to call someone.”

The woman’s face softens. “There’s a landline in the break room. Come on back. We aren’t very busy today, but you never know who might wander in and get a fright.”

Peter grins. It pulls at the stitches in his cheek. “I look bad, huh?”

Helen presses her lip together. “I hope you got someone who can help you, baby.”

“Yeah, they should – shouldn’t be long once I call them.” Peter follows her into the back. “Sorry, where is this?”

The concern pinches her face even more. “About twenty miles outside of Salt Lake City, honey.”

“Utah?” Peter blurts. He’s in fucking _Utah_? “Uh. Shit. Sorry. Um, I’m – a long way from home.”

“Have you been kidnapped?” she asks. “Do I need to call the police?”

“No, no.” He probably looks like an escaped asylum patient, in his plain shirt and trousers. “My family is gonna come get me. They’ll sort it.”

“Okay,” she says, unconvinced. “There’s the phone, honey. Let me know if you need anything else. I can write off some close-to-date stock if you need a snack.”

“Thank you,” he says, and she leaves.

He catches his reflection in the kettle as he moves towards the phone, and shit – he looks like an extra from a horror movie: eyes red from burst blood vessels, when they decided to test how long he could hold his breath; the stitches holding the slash on his cheek together, stark against his pale skin; the shaved patch on the side of his head that had been the final straw. That’s without the burns, the stitches on the inside of both wrists, the incision scar all the way down his ribcage and stomach. He’s a fucking horror show.

“Okay,” he says to himself, “Mr Stark. Call Mr Stark.”

It would have been a fifty-fifty tossup between May and Mr Stark, but Mr Stark can get here faster and trace his location. 

He dials the number and waits. It rings.

_“I’m not sure how the fuck you got this number–“_

“Mr Stark?” Peter whispers. How long has it been? He has no idea, but there’s a longing in his chest, a different kind of ache than his injuries.

_“Peter?”_ Mr Stark says in the same quiet tone. _“Pete – shit, is that you?”_

“Yeah,” Peter says, swallowing down a sob. “Yeah.” It’s all he can manage. When was the last time he heard a friendly voice?

_“FRIDAY, trace this. Right the fuck now. Stay on the phone, kid. Suit, Fri!”_

“I’m safe for now,” Peter tells him. “I’m at a rest stop near Salt Lake City. They’re letting me use their phone.”

_“Utah?”_

“I know, right?” 

_“Okay.”_ Mr Stark exhales a trembling breath. _“All right – Fri, keep the trace going. I’m gonna head in the general direction. I’m flying, I’m gonna be there soon, kid. Just hang on a little longer.”_

“Okay,” Peter says.

_“Are you okay, buddy? Are you hurt?”_

Yes. Yes, he is very much hurt. He hurts all over. “Um, yeah. A – a bit.”

_“How much is a bit?”_

Peter snorts. “I look like Frankenstein.”

_“Jesus,”_ Mr Stark mutters. _“Okay, I’m already over New Jersey. Hang tight, kid.”_

Peter just says, “Okay,” again, and part of him wants to come off high alert, but his body is stuck on it, stuck in fight or flight mode. Fight, then flight. “Mr Stark, I…”

_“Yeah?”_

_Lifeless eyes. Blood. White walls. Alarms blaring_. “I think – I killed someone. Maybe a lot of people. I didn't mean to–"

_“Hey, listen,”_ Mr Stark says, his voice suddenly gentle, _“you had to.”_

“You don’t even know–“

_“I know you, kid. They’re the people that hurt you. You did what you had to do.”_

Peter closes his eyes, holds the phone as tight as he dares without cracking the plastic casing. 

_“I’m nearly there. Nearly there, buddy.”_

“I want to go home,” Peter says softly.

_“I’m on my way,”_ Mr Stark says. _“Rhodey’s gonna follow in the jet. Just a little longer, okay? I’m staying on the phone with you the whole time.”_

“Okay.” He sits against the wall, holds the phone to his ear, and just listens to Mr Stark talk.

* * *

He hears the repulsors after about half an hour. The sound circles around, before swooping down, and there’s a thud on the tarmac outside. Helen shrieks. The bell tinkles.

“Iron Man?”

“There’s a kid in here. Where is he?”

“I – he said he was calling his family.”

“Yes.” He can practically see Mr Stark’s sharp, paparazzi smile. “He did. That’s me.”

“Uh, he’s in the break room. Through there.” Helen lowers her voice. “Whatever’s happened to him, you best take care of him. Someone’s been doing terrible things.”

“I will,” Mr Stark says quietly, and then Peter stops listening. The suit’s whirring moves closer. “Sentry mode.” He opens the door. “ _Peter_.”

“Mr Stark,” Peter whimpers, and tries to push himself away from the wall, but Mr Stark gets there first, holding him at arm’s length as he looks up and down his whole body: the burns, the bruises, the stitches. He turns Peter’s head to the side, runs a thumb over his shaved hair. “They didn’t – I got out before they did that.”

“I’m sorry,” Mr Stark says, his hands moving to cup Peter’s face, “I was looking for you the whole time, I never stopped – I should’ve done more, kid–“

“I know you were looking,” Peter says. He’s starting to shake, the adrenaline finally wearing off. _He’s safe he’s safe he’s safe_. “How – how long has it been?”

Sadness settles behind Mr Stark’s eyes. “Six months, buddy.”

“Holy _fuck_.” What has he done to Mr Stark, disappearing like that? May? Ned and MJ? He’d guessed two months at most, but after the way days blurred together, the way they knocked him out whenever it suited them and kept him under long past what was safe, he shouldn’t be as surprised as he is.

But six months…

“Jesus Christ,” Mr Stark says. He’s looking at Peter’s wrists. 

He remembers this. Unusual, since they liked to make sure he was all the way out most of the time. But this – the way they strapped him in the chair, the way they sliced into his wrist, peeled his skin back, laid it out on the table beneath his arm like a flower, the way he nearly choked because he was too sedated to turn his head before he vomited – he remembers.

“What else…?” Mr Stark trails off, like he’s afraid to ask. 

Peter grimaces, but pulls the hem of the shirt up towards his chest, revealing the pink line down the centre of his torso. There’s more on his legs, the recent shallow slices they made to test his healing. Mr Stark clasps the back of his head and pulls him in close, presses his lips to the top of Peter’s head. _Safe. Safe_.

He doesn’t realise he’s crying until his shoulders jerk with a hiccuping sob, and brings one hand up to cover his mouth. His cheek smarts as his face contorts, but Mr Stark is here, Mr Stark has him, he’s safe, he’s out of that place. 

“Okay,” Mr Stark murmurs, “you’re okay, kid, you’re okay. You’re safe. I got you, I got you.” He kisses the top of Peter’s head again, then the side, his temple. “It’s so good to see you, kid.”

Peter melts into the hug, into the warmth. He’s been cold for so long, can’t remember what it’s like being anything but shivering and shaky and nauseous. He hides his face in Tony’s chest and closes his eyes.

Engines, slowing down. Machinery whirring. Something landing outside. 

“Rhodey?” Peter asks.

“Is he here? All right, let’s go. Does this place have a back door? You head out, and I’ll buy you some snacks. With an extra thank you for their kindness.”

Which seems like a logical plan, except something in Peter snaps, like a reflex, and his hands clench around Mr Stark’s shirt. “Don’t go.”

“Okay,” Mr Stark says easily, and doesn’t let go, “all right. I’ll text Rhodey, let him know. We’ll just go, okay? Straight outside.”

“Okay. Can you tell Helen thank you for me?”

“Of course.” Mr Stark pulls back, brushing a gentle thumb over the stitches on Peter’s cheek, then puts an arm around his shoulders, leads him out of the break room and through the back of the store. The jet ramp is already down; Rhodey's lounging at the bottom, but stands up straight when he sees them.

“Shit, it really is you,” Rhodey says with a relieved grin. “Good to see you, kid.”

“You too.” Peter lets himself be hugged again; it’s such a foreign comfort, when all he’s used to is a pat on the head and a curt, “Good boy.”

“Snacks, please, honeybear,” Mr Stark says, and they have a silent conversation for a moment before he nods. “Okay. Fri, put the Compound in the autopilot for me.”

“Autopilot?” Peter says as Rhodey walks back into the rest stop.

“Rhodey’s gonna stay here. How long were you walking until you got here?”

“Uh, an hour?”

“From which direction?”

Peter points.

Mr Stark nods, swallows, clenches his jaw. “He’ll sort it. Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh,” Peter says quietly. He doesn’t want Mr Stark to see what he did in there, but then again, he doesn’t want anyone to see it. He hurt so many people, maybe killed some of them.

_They hurt you. You had to._

Rhodey walks back towards them, holding grocery bags full of gas station snacks, and Peter’s mouth waters. When was the last time he ate something he wanted?

“You ready, kid?” Mr Stark murmurs. “Let’s get you home.”

“Home,” Peter agrees, and follows him into the jet.


	19. Broken Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Love you, T’ny.” 
> 
> Tony’s hands shook as he kissed the top of Peter’s head. “I love you too, kiddo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to say, I am not responsible for any emotions held against the author after this one... the prompts were (Grief, Mourning Loved One, and Survivor’s Guilt) I am not to be blamed for this...

Peter leaned against the front seat of the 1967 Chevy Impala he and Tony had restored together last summer. Peter had always wanted to restore a car, and when May let Tony in on that secret, the man had ensured on making it happen. 

Tony had been telling Peter they were going to take a roadtrip together for years, but something had always stood in the way. 

Not this summer. 

Not since Doctor Cho told them Peter had days to live. A confrontation with a rogue sorcerer gone wrong. Mr. Stark had called in everyone when the news had been given. May and MJ had just sat at Peter’s side, both doing their best to be strong as the oxygen helped him to breath. 

Doctor Strange had confirmed Cho’s diagnostics. A grim look plastered on his normally smug face. 

“I’m sorry, Peter. The spell, what he did, there is no way for us to stop it. It’s a cursed spell from a book forbidden to the world. Something so old that not even the infinity stones could fix this.” Strange’s voice grew faint as May rested her head on the bed beside him. 

“What does that mean?” Peter asked, his voice quiet. Muffled, far away. 

“I- your body is shutting down. I…” Strange went quiet, looking down at the ground. 

“How long?” Peter asked, as Tony just leaned against the wall, looking down at his shoes. Still. 

“One week.”

* * *

That was two days ago. Peter had talked to May and Michelle privately. And he’d told them that he was making a decision for the good of all of them. He’d held his girl’s hands and gave them both a sad smile.

“I’m going to leave. With Tony. We’re going to go on a trip, and I’m going to say goodbye now. Before we go.” 

May had just shook her head but Peter took both of her hands and hushed her, forcing himself to look her straight in her eyes. 

“I need to do this. The last you see of me can't be when I’m unconscious in a hospital bed. I can’t die knowing your last picture of me was sick and weak.” May just stayed quiet, pressing her lips to Peter’s hand. “Let me say goodbye. Let me make one last decision.” 

It had been a terrible goodbye. A weight settled on Peter’s chest that he feared he would never get off. It had been a salty kiss with Michelle. Tears mixed into their touches. It had been hugging Ned as tightly as he could while his friend wept. It had been sitting on the couch with May. His head in her lap as she hummed songs from Ben’s old record collection. Tears pouring down both parties' faces. Silence. Words wouldn’t do any justice. So they’d sat together until Mr. Stark walked into the room, keys to their car in his hand. 

He was pale. Had been uncharacteristically quiet since their news. 

* * *

Now they were halfway through Minnesota. 

Peter just lay back against the black leather sits, listening to Mr. Stark’s old collection of eightie’s rock. He took the oxygen mask on and off. 

He could feel it. The disease running through his body. 

Everything, shutting down. 

Peter watched the horizon. 

Mr. Stark still silent. 

About four days left.

* * *

“Are you going to talk to me?” Peter asked, after a particularly rough round of coughing. “Or are we going to sit in silence until I die?” 

Tony stiffened at that. His jaw clenched as he jerked the car off the side of the road and slammed it into park before he got out of the car, slamming the door behind him. 

“Well, shit.” Peter said before following suit. 

Mr. Stark stepped down the bank of the road, before promptly sitting on a rock, overlooking the lake laid out before him. 

Peter just followed suit, sitting down beside Tony while the older man took rattling breaths. 

“You can’t say shit like that, Pete. I-I can’t… I don’t understand what’s going on, I can’t do this.” Tony didn’t look at Peter, just stared out at the blue water in front of them. 

“I’m sorry, I can go by myself from here.” Peter said, hand resting on his chest. 

“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m… I don’t think I can lose you, kid. Not like this.” Tony shook his head, turning to look at Peter with somber eyes.

Peter gave a slight nod. “I know… I just, I didn’t want to hurt them,” Peter blinked hard. “But I didn’t want to be alone.” 

Tony wrapped his arm around Peter’s shoulder, and pulled the kid’s head to his chest. 

The two wept on that rock, minutes fading to hours. The sun had set before Tony went to stand. He found that Peter was unconscious on him, the kid’s nose dripping blood. 

“No, no, no. Give me more time. Dammit,  _ Peter!  _ Give me more time! Wake up, right now!” Tony cried, laying Peter down as he grabbed the kid’s face in between his two hands. 

“‘M ‘wake.” Peter mumbled from blood covered lips. “Pr’bably need oxygen.” 

“Yeah, let’s get you to the car, and I’ll get you right on that.” Tony pulled Peter up, the kid managing to find his feet as they stumbled back to the black Impala. 

Tony pulled the oxygen mask around Peter’s face before pulling the kid’s blanket up to his chest.    
“Alright,” Tony slipped back into his seat, looking back over to Peter. “Just get some rest.”

* * *

Two days left. They pulled off at a small motel to get some rest. Tony had to practically carry Peter inside. The kid was fading. Tony could see it in his eyes, could feel it in the quietness of the car. 

The slept for a few hours.

* * *

Peter could feel it that day. When he woke up. He knew it was his last day. Knew that his fight on this earth was almost done. Peter’s entire life, he’d been fighting. Everything he’d ever done, it was always a struggle. But sitting in the car, Mr. Stark’s hand on his head, playing with his hair, soft rock playing in the background as the cool wind whipped throughout the vehicle, he found himself feeling nothing but peace. 

Tony hadn’t stopped talking that day. He was telling Peter every story he could think of. Told Peter of his entire life. The good and the bad. Every little detail he could remember. Peter didn’t mind. He didn’t have anywhere near the energy to try and carry the conversation, but he liked listening. He liked learning more about Tony. 

“Where are we going?” Peter asked, when he realized he’d never known the destination. He’d just known that they were going West. Driving until they ran out of time. 

“There is a beach in Washington… my uh - my dad took me to it when I was fifteen. The one good trip we had together. It, it's the most beautiful place I’ve seen. Figured it would be a good place…” Tony trailed off, humming once more as a new song played. 

Washington. Peter had never been there. Always wanted to go. 

* * *

“We’re only twenty minutes out. Hang on, buddy.” Tony gripped Peter’s hand tightly. Peter just watched the sun as it was beginning to set behind the vast mountains surrounding them. His lungs were tired, barely able to work through the exhaustion. 

“Did I ever tell you my favorite memory I have with you?” Tony asked, and Peter just cut his eyes, looked at the silent tears that ran down Tony’s cheeks as he gave the slightest shake of his head. “Well, you probably won’t remember this, but it was about two months after everything with Toomes and the plane. When everything started out with us, May told me that there were a few days a year where you weren’t you. She said that you had some dates that affected you more than others. She told me why. God, you always amazed me. You’ve lost more than I will ever be able to fathom, you deserve more than I will ever be able to give you, and God, kid - it's just not fair. But it was, it was the anniversary of Ben’s death. May said you couldn’t get out of bed. She told me she’d tried, but that you were in your head. That you needed comfort.” Tony sniffed as Peter just stared at the golden sky, billowing clouds filling the vast space. “I was about to call you when I got an alert. There was some lunatic calling himself the Green Goblin on the loose in the city. And instead of letting any other hero take care of it, do you know what you did? On the hardest day of your life? You got out of bed, despite the weight tying you to it. And you put on your suit, and you went out and fought tooth and nail. You were so beat up afterwards that I had to fly you to the med bay, and while I sat with you after Cho got you all fixed up, I couldn’t help but have one thought. You are innately good. There is nothing in you but kindness and compassion and protection. You embody loyalty.” 

Tony pulled onto the bank of the beach and turned the car off. He slid into the middle seat, pulling Peter’s head onto his shoulder. The kid’s eyes were heavy, his breaths uneven as he stared at the sun. 

The sky 

was a melting pot. An artist’s palette of color, mixed time after time again as a new painting was made. A song that was an orchestra. Instrument on top of instrument, as a cacophony of colors molded together. The sun was getting lower on the horizon of the beach. Peter’s life setting with it. 

“And I just thought,  _ God, this kid. This kid is going to be the best of us. _ ” Tony leaned over then, doing his best to drown out the sound of Peter’s rasping breaths. 

“Love you, T’ny.” 

Tony’s hands shook as he kissed the top of Peter’s head. “I love you too, kiddo.” 

The Orchestra got louder and louder. A crescendo…

Quiet. 


	20. i have a feeling we're not in kansas anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think we’re lost.”
> 
> “No, really?”
> 
> “Could do without the sass, Underoos.”
> 
> They’re in the middle of a pine forest, rows upon rows of identical trees stretching into the distance. It’s fucking freezing. They have no tech. Not a cell phone between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10 000 hits? 500 kudos? we can't thank you enough
> 
> have some 'lost' and 'field medicine' with my favourite trope, deus ex uncle rhodey
> 
> i promise this is happy! recover from yesterday's chapter! i know what elane did to you

“I think we’re lost.”

“No, really?”

“Could do without the sass, Underoos.”

“But humour is how I cope.”

Tony sighs, willing himself to stay calm. _You’re the adult here._ “Okay. Can you hear anyone following us?”

Peter shakes his head.

“Let’s take a break.”

“Last time I’m ever coming on vacation with you,” Peter says under his breath.

Tony takes stock of the kid’s injuries first – broken thumb, busted nose, shallow cuts on his cheek and forehead, sprained wrist and possibly an ankle, too – before he gives himself a quick once-over: shoulder definitely dislocated, ribs fractured, something fucked in his knee, throbbing pain on the crown of his head, and most likely a black eye.

They’re in the middle of a pine forest, rows upon rows of identical trees stretching into the distance. It’s fucking freezing. They have no tech. Not a cell phone between them.

Their phones and watches, along with their suits, are probably back at the AIM base they’ve just escaped from, but that’s a no-go. Apart from the reminders of what Killian had nearly cost him, they’d seemed a little too interested in Peter’s enhancements for Tony’s liking. 

So they’re walking, limping, through this endless forest. They can’t go much further like this.

“You’re gonna have to reset my shoulder,” Tony says, and Peter’s head snaps up in horror.

“No – come on–“

“it’s gonna get more painful and cause more damage the longer it’s like this. You just gotta brace and pull, okay?”

“But I’m strong – what if I hurt you?”

“I’m already hurt, Itsy-Bitsy. And have a look around for some branches – we should try and splint what we can.”

“Okay,” Peter says faintly, and stumbles away. “Where even are we?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” He doesn’t know long they were knocked out, how far they could have been transported.

Peter appears again, his good hand clutching a few straight twigs. “These should work, right?”

“Yeah. Good work, buddy. Let’s sort you out first, okay?”

“But your shoulder…”

“I don’t have freaky fast healing. You first.”

Peter sighs, but hands Tony his sticks. 

“Okay. Nose. How’s the nose?”

“I put it back in already. Same with my thumb.”

Tony’s eyes water in sympathy at the thought. “Okay. Uh, good stuff. Yikes.”

“Yeah.”

He splints Peter’s wrist in silence, tying it off with ivy tendrils, then his ankle. Ivy grows just about everywhere, so he still has no idea where they are.

“One good thing about it being so cold,” Peter says, “is my body’s using so much energy trying to keep warm, it’s hardly healing. Imagine if my joints got stuck in the wrong places.”

“Maybe that wasn’t as comforting as you wanted it to be, Webs,” Tony murmurs.

“Sorry.”

“You feel okay doing my shoulder?”

“Yeah.” Peter frowns, but braces both of his hands on Tony’s shoulder. “You, um, you need to relax, right?”

“Yep,” Tony says, already wincing at the light touch. This is going to be hell. _Relax. Relax._

“Maybe bite down on something?” Peter suggests, and holds out a stick.

“Really?”

“All the shitty teen drama shows I’ve watched seem to suggest it works.”

“Helen’s going to laugh her ass off at us. Or yell.”

“Emergency medicine, Mr Stark. We’re in the field.”

“We’re in a goddamn infinite forest.” Tony gingerly puts the stick in his mouth and bites down. _Relax_. He nods.

Peter nods back, grips his shoulder. “Five… _four–_ “ He yanks.

Tony yells, jaws clamping down on the twig, and folds over in agony. He gasps in a couple of breaths, spits the branch out, and the pain begins to pass.

“I’m so sorry!” Peter cries. “But people normally count down from three and then do it on two, and I didn’t want you to expect it and tense up–“

“No, you did good,” Tony wheezes. “Well done, kid. _Fuck_. Good job.”

“Sorry,” Peter says again. “Is it – okay?”

“Think so,” Tony says. “Might have to put it in a sling.”

“Do you want my shirt?”

“Nuh-uh, Mr Shitty Thermoregulation.” Tony pulls off his jacket with a wince, leaving him in his thermal undersuit. “Mind giving me a hand?”

“Yeah.” Peter gently ties the jacket around Tony’s wrist before looping it around his neck. “What about your knee?”

“I’ll live.”

“Tony.”

“We need to keep moving,” Tony says. “I’m not letting them get their hands on you. No way.”

“You’ve met these guys before?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Seems a change in management hasn’t made them any less insane.” Tony starts walking, biting his lip when he puts weight on his injured knee. 

“ _Tony_ ,” Peter says again, more insistently, “you can’t walk on that. It could be hours before we find help.”

“What are you gonna do about it?”

“Pick you up and carry you.”

Tony’s seen the kid lift a jetway, not to mention catch powerful fists, so he concedes the point. “Fine. You saw what I did with your ankle, right?”

“Yes. You know first aid is part of Avengers training, right?”

“Yeah, well, you still look like the nerdy tween you were when I met you.”

“I was fourteen!”

“Close enough.”

Peter shakes his head, but he’s too busy concentrating on tying off the makeshift splint to retort. He’s right; Tony keeps forgetting he’s in college now, forgets he’s a full member of the team, forgets he’s not a kid.

“Is that better?”

“Yep.” Doesn’t matter if it’s not; they need to move. “Thanks, buddy.”

Peter just sighs and pulls Tony’s arm around his shoulders. “I saw some berries back there. Didn’t want to risk it, though.”

“Yeah, poisoning seems like a shitty way to go after all this.” Tony tests out his injured leg, leaning on Peter more than he’d like to admit. It’s better. “Okay, let’s shift.”

* * *

Peter was right. It is hours before they find help, help which comes in the form of War Machine landing in front of them the instant they break out of the seemingly endless forest.

“Damn,” Rhodey says, and flips his faceplate up, “been waiting for you to find your way out for hours. Couldn’t find a clear spot to land.”

Tony blinks. “Are you serious?”

“Tried calling. You didn’t answer.”

“They took our tech.”

“Well, it’s a good thing Pete paid attention to his wilderness survival training – oh, wait.” Rhodey smirks. “He took a rain check on that one. Date with Miss Jones, wasn’t it?”

“Rhodey,” Peter groans.

Still smirking, Rhodey speaks into his comm. “I found them, Pepper. Let me know when you’re done at that hideout.”

“Pepper came?” Tony asks.

“Well, when we pinged your backup tracker and it was in Sweden–“

“Sweden?”

“Yep. Pepper’s getting your things now.”

“Well, if anyone deserves a crack at AIM again, it’s her,” Tony says.

“She’s winning,” Rhodey says cheerfully. “How we looking? Anything badly broken?”

Tony grins, putting his arm around Peter’s shoulders. “Luckily, Pete didn’t ditch his first aid training. We probably just need a nap and a meal.”

“I always need a nap and a meal,” Peter says.

“I know you do, college student.”

“Let’s get you the jet, come on.” Rhodey starts walking away from the trees, towards a road in the distance, and Tony notices the Quinjet, half-hidden behind a bank. Grey mist hangs in the air, setting off the greens of the land around them. Now he’s out of the copy-pasted forest, it’s actually quite beautiful.

“Should we do a Scandinavia holiday?” Tony asks. “Go to the fjords? I hear the food is becoming quite fashionable.”

Peter huffs. “I told you, I’m never going on vacation with you again.”

“This was not my fault!”

“Guess not,” Peter concedes.

“You guess not? Do you think I _ask_ to get kidnapped?” Tony hobbles after Peter as he follows Rhodey down the hill. “Is this for funsies, per chance?”

“Stop being dramatic, Tones.”

“Dramatic? Me?”

“Incredibly, yes.”

Peter snorts, but manages to turn it into a cough. “Thanks for saving me, Rhodey.”

“Any time, kid. I’m amazed you survived three hours in the forest with him.”

Peter and Tony look at each other in confusion, then shock. “That was only _three hours_?”


	21. I Don't Feel So Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter was dying. He knew that much. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly... for the title this chapter was given, I could have been a lot meaner to you guys so...
> 
> Actually, I can't say that because I think I broke everyone with chapter 19... it was time for some lighthearted whump :)

Peter leaned against the tree, his hand gripping his side as he fought to breathe through the pain. Tony was by the river, getting water for them. 

Not that it mattered. 

Peter was dying. He knew that much. 

He and Mr. Stark had been on their way to a conference when their plane had been shot down. 

When Peter had woken up, there’d been a tree branch sticking out of his right side. 

Mr. Stark had already been at his side. The man had a few bumps and bruises, but all-in-all he didn’t look terrible. 

But he was absolutely losing his mind about the fact that Peter had decided to become part tree. 

They’d managed to get the limb out and wrap Peter’s mid-section with a few pieces of old t-shirt. Their phones had no service, seeing as they were in the wilderness of Maine at the time of the crash landing. 

That had been yesterday, and Peter woke up knowing he had a fever. He and Mr. Stark had slept inside the wreckage, but Peter knew it was time for them to be on their way. If the people that shot them down could help it, they’d be dead in a couple of hours. 

So they’d been travelling - pushing through the cold and pain. Mr. Stark did his best to support Peter, but the kid was beginning to shake like a leaf as they moved. 

“I-I can’t go…” Peter muttered, as he stumbled over a log.

“Okay, okay.” Mr. Stark had set him down, leaned him up against a tree. “I’m going to get us some water, okay? And then we’re going to re-evaluate.”

Peter took a deep breath and let his head rest against the pine. 

He could feel the temperature dropping. He could feel blood seeping down his side. He could feel that he wouldn’t last much longer going like this. 

“Peter! Peter - hey, hey, hey!” Mr. Stark was shaking him then and Peter blinked his eyes open. 

“I’m ‘wake. I’m awake.” He muttered, slowly blinking his eyes open. Mr. Stark was kneeling in front of him, holding a styrofoam cup with water in it. 

“Okay, shit, you scared me. Drink some of this alright?” Mr. Stark handed Peter the cup, and rested a hand on the top of Peter’s forehead before removing his hand. “Shit - you’re burning up. Let me look at you.” 

Peter just grunted in agreement, his teeth chattering as a particularly brutal wave of chills ran up his spine. 

Mr. Stark pulled the ripped shirt from Peter’s side. The man went still, and Peter was caught off guard when Tony’s freezing fingers touched his boiling side. He tensed, jerking sideways as stars danced across his vision. 

“Okay, okay - sorry.” Tony said, before re-wrapping Peter’s side. “Well, it’s definitely not supposed to be that color. And I know we can both tell the temperature is going to drop big time tonight, so let’s get out of here.” 

“Okay, yeah - I’m fine.” Peter grunted, and Mr. Stark just grumbled about how, ‘sure, you’re fine, tonto.’ 

They began their trek once more. 

It was slow, agonizingly so. Peter was barely getting his feet to move, one arm thrown over Mr. Stark’s shoulder, the other gripping his side. Every step elicited pain. Every movement was torture. 

Peter was openly panting as they stepped out into a clearing. Mr. Stark paused, and looked, his heart dropping. 

They were on top of a mountain - alone. And it was blatantly clear to Peter that they were nowhere near civilization. 

“Alright, pal. Sun’s going down. We aren't getting down this hill tonight. Let’s get set up. I’m sure Rhodey is halfway to us by now.” 

Peter grunted, his body continuing to shiver as Mr. Stark began to pull Peter towards a cluster of trees. 

Mr. Stark set Peter down, trying to ease the kid down, but Peter was only focused on getting horizontal. His hands and feet were numb as he tried to tuck himself in. 

Mr. Stark began to pull some pine needles together, find a way to draw warmth in for the night that was proving to be much colder than the previous one. 

“Okay, bud.” Mr. Stark began, sliding the pine needle around Peter as best as he could before sitting down, putting an arm around the kid. Peter could feel Mr. Stark as he himself shivered in the cold. “I’d build us a fire, but I’m worried that our friendly neighborhood hotshots might see the smoke. And not that I don’t trust in your capabilities as a superhero, but I don’t think we’re in a position to be fighting anyone off, so body heat will have to do.” 

Peter just pulled himself as tight in against Mr. Stark’s chest. “Th-th-that’s okay, we’ll be fine.” Peter murmured. He was exhausted, his body dragging him down to sleep. Maybe more than sleep, but he was to the point of being unable to care about the fact that he may not wake up from his sleep. 

“You’re going to be fine, okay?” Mr. Stark rested his head on top of Peter’s, exhaustion and sleep pulling them both under.

* * *

Peter was having a horrible dream. He was freezing cold and burning up. He wanted to wake up, but the pain was too much. Someone holding his head under water. 

There was yelling, his name over and over. 

Touching, hands moving him. 

“Peter! Wake up!” He wasn’t shivering anymore. Something on his face stung, and he wanted to say something, but his eyes were opening of their own accord. 

Mr. Stark was looking down at him, fear radiating out from him. Peter wanted to speak, but his mouth wouldn’t work, his mind felt worthless. 

“Okay, you’re awake. You’re awake. The plane is landing, alright? Just keep your eyes open.” 

Peter could hear it then. The noise of a quinjet. He wanted to ask Mr. Stark who it was, if they were friends, but his eyes were so heavy. 

So heavy. 

He was being moved, straps folded across him, then something gloriously warm covered his chest. 

“Get an IV started, warmed oxygen going, make sure we start him on his antibiotics!” He knew that voice, it was a friend. He could rest if it was a friend. 

But Mr. Stark. He needed to know Mr. Stark was okay. 

Peter blinked, forcing his eyes open before he looked around, turning his head to find Mr. Stark staring down at him.

“You ‘kay?” Peter murmured, the oxygen mask muffling his voice. 

“I’m okay buddy. Why don't you go ahead and get some rest, alright?” 

And that was all the information he needed before he was sound asleep. 


	22. poisoned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Incoming call from Miss Potts.”
> 
> “Pep?” He knows as soon as he answers the call that something’s wrong. She looks pale, exhausted.
> 
> “Tony,” she says, and coughs. “We're locked in the building, in the lowest-level lab–“
> 
> “You’re what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's pepper and happy hours!
> 
> this is based on the blue shadow virus episodes in the clone wars. no i have no idea what devil's breath actually does
> 
> disclaimer: i did not mean for this to reflect current events in the slightest, but just in case
> 
> warnings for similarities to a certain virus

“Thank you for letting me come today, Miss Potts.”

Pepper smiles down at the kid trotting beside her. “Thank you for letting me borrow you from Tony.”

“I can’t wait to see the new labs!” Peter says brightly. “Not that I don’t like Mr Stark’s labs – I love them. Just – a nice change.”

“I wonder what you don’t miss about Tony’s lab,” Happy says, striding behind them. “The dirty food wrappers? Coffee mugs growing their own bacteria culture? The bots trying to poison you with motor oil?”

“All part of the Mr Stark experience, Happy.”

“Uh-huh.”

They step into the elevator together, waiting for the doors to close. Happy sticks out his hand to hold them open when he sees a staff member jogging towards them, lab coat flapping.

“Thank you,” he breathes. “Oh, Miss Potts, good morning.”

“How are you, Doctor Lowell?” Pepper says. “This is Peter Parker, Tony’s personal intern. I’m showing him around the new facility.”

“Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Well, you chose a good day,” Doctor Lowell says, sounding a little breathless. The elevator doors close with barely a sound, and they begin their descent.

This new facility in Chicago had been almost entirely Tony’s brainchild, but once he got Peter hooked on the idea, the two of them could hardly be dragged out of the workshop until the plans were complete. The building is trialling a new form of hydroelectric power, using Lake Michigan’s unpredictable moods as a source, with an arc reactor for backup power. Why some of it had to be underground, Pepper doesn’t understand, but she suspects the word ‘cool’ was used more than once. ‘Awesome’, too.

Now it’s up and running, Pepper has volunteered to give it a check, make sure everything’s going as it should be, and invited Peter to take a tour with her. She knows Tony is starting to consider what will happen when he finally steps down – although he won’t make any moves towards it for years yet – and she knows those plans have Peter written all over them.

So if she can start to encourage at least a little business sense in the kid, what’s the harm? 

“Excuse me,” Lowell says, and bolts the second the elevator stops and the doors open.

“We poached him from Oscorp,” Pepper murmurs to Peter. “He’s now Head of Bioengineering here. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him not stressed.”

Peter grins. “I’m sure you have better employee benefits than Oscorp.”

“Without question.”

They walk down the corridor together, Happy a couple of paces behind, passing lab after lab. Peter’s face lights up with every glass screen he peers through, until they reach the end and enter the main lab.

Peter frowns, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck.

“Didn’t Lowell come in here?” Happy mutters, glancing around at the bustling employees.

“I’m glad you came today, Miss Potts.”

Pepper turns, frowning; she feels on edge, like she’s picking up on Peter’s uneasiness, Happy’s suspicion. She knows Tony puts a lot of stock in Peter’s instincts – intuition, he calls it, part of the spidery package deal.

“Doctor Lowell?” she says evenly. “Is everything all right?”

He’s holding a large sealed vial in one hand, turning it over. “This’ll…really make a statement, you know? Having a Stark facility be the source of this global outbreak, not to mention his poor fiancée stuck down here at ground zero.”

“What are you talking about?” Pepper’s heart is pounding, but her first instinct is to throw her arm out, as if to shield Peter. 

“Never quite had the equipment in Oscorp’s labs. Here, though – I had just what I needed.”

“To do what?” Pepper demands, trying to reconcile the quiet, permanently hurried scientist with the dangerous man standing in front of her.

“To spread my virus.” He taps the vial. “Devil’s Breath. You wouldn’t think it from looking at it, would you?”

“FRIDAY,” Pepper says, “full lockdown. Seal this all off. Evacuate who you can.” She swallows. “And make it airtight.”

_“Boss.”_ The lab doors slide shut.

“One day, she’ll get out,” Lowell says. “If the viruses don’t find a host, they just hibernate. She won’t die. One day – could be years in the future – but one day, she’ll be set free.”

_Oh shit oh shit oh shit._ “Why are you doing this?” Pepper manages. “Revenge? To make a point? Why?”

Lowell smiles. “Because I can.”

He opens his hand. Someone screams. Peter yells, dives forward, arms outstretched.

The glass shatters.

* * *

_“Incoming call from Miss Potts.”_

“Pep?” He knows as soon as he answers the call that something’s wrong. She looks pale, exhausted.

_“Tony,”_ she says, and coughs. _“We're locked in the building, in the lowest-level lab–“_

“You’re _what_?”

_“Someone’s released some kind of – poison–“_ She coughs again, a horrible rasping sound. _“I told FRIDAY to seal this whole level off, but there’s a lot of us down here.”_

Happy. Peter. She must see the horror on his face.

_“You can’t come here, okay? This thing – this virus, it can’t be allowed out of here. Ever. It’s called Devil’s Breath, so see if you can find a cure based on that, but–“_ Another coughing fit. _“You can’t unseal this area until you have a cure, and by the time you have that…”_ She trails off. _“You can’t come here, honey.”_

She’s not calling for help, he realises with a cold shock of terror. It’s much worse than that. “Pep – Pepper–“

_“I’m sorry,”_ she says. _“We were supposed to look after the kid.”_

“Don’t do that.” Tony’s already on his feet, gesturing for a suit. “Don’t say that, Pepper. My suits are sealed – air filtration – I can seal the other floors off and come down–“

_“You wouldn’t be able to get back out without risking–“_ Pepper coughs again. _“If you got in here, you’d have to stay.”_

“I can send suits for you.”

_“We’ve already breathed it in.”_

“Shit,” Tony says. Realisation is looming over him like a wave, ready to break, but he doesn’t want it to, not yet. He doesn’t want to acknowledge this. “Shit.” 

_“I’m sorry, Tony. Hey, sweetheart.”_

_“Is that him?”_

_“Yeah.”_

The camera moves. _“Hey,”_ Peter rasps. He looks and sounds even worse than Pepper. 

“Jesus, kid.”

_“I know,”_ Peter says. His voice is barely a wheeze. _“I was right next to the guy when he released it – I tried to stop him–“_

Happy, just on the edge of the screen, won’t meet Tony’s eyes, won’t even look at the camera. Like he’s ashamed.

“Was it an employee?” Tony says.

Pepper purses her lips. _“Lowell.”_

“FRIDAY, get me all of Doctor Lowell’s files, including what you can retrieve from his Oscorp server and his personal computer.”

_“Yes, Boss.”_

“I’ll get you out of this,” Tony says firmly. Pepper looks unconvinced – no, she looks _sad_. “I will, okay? Just hold on for me.”

_“Here are the files I’ve found on Devil’s Breath,”_ FRIDAY says. _“It seems to be an artificially bioengineered airborne virus. I’m analysing the molecular structure now.”_

“We need a way to neutralise it in the air and a cure for those infected,” Tony says. He keeps the call going, but scales the window down, tucks it in the corner of his screen. “Call everyone you can – Bruce, Cho. I want everyone on this.”

_“I’m still searching the remaining files. There might be something in them.”_

“Yeah, keep at it. In the meantime…” Tony appraises the complex-looking molecule on his StarkPad, before flicking it off the side of the screen so it appears as a hologram. He expands it, spins it. Biotech has never been his specialty, but it’s about to be. He learned thermonuclear astrophysics in a night; he can do this. 

He can save his family.

* * *

Peter’s fading fast.

He’s slumped against Pepper’s side, letting out little wheezing gasps, his fingers clenching spasmodically in the front of her blouse.

She’s going to die, and so’s the kid, and Happy, and then there’ll only be Rhodey left between Tony Stark and total self-obliteration. May Parker, maybe.

“It’s going to be okay,” she whispers, even though her chest is tight, and it hurts to breathe, it _hurts_. Happy, sitting on Peter’s other side, coughs.

Lowell is already gone; apart from Peter, he’d inhaled more of it than anyone. The other employees are huddled against walls around the edge of the lab, breathing fitfully, coughing. Some have stopped moving.

Peter closes his eyes, winces. Pepper wonders if it’s only his enhancements that have kept him functioning this long. God, she’s not his mother, she’s not Tony, but she’s doing what she can: holding him close, running a hand through his hair. 

After a moment, she has to swallow the fact that Peter probably won’t open his eyes again. Happy seems to have realised it too, and he rests one hand on Peter’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Pepper,” he says. “It was my job to protect you. Both of you.”

“You’re Asset Management now,” she reminds him, a little breathlessly.

“I liked Forehead of Security better.”

“Mm.” Pepper’s sure she had a smart response to that, but she can’t remember it, so she just strokes her hand through Peter’s curls again.

How long has it been? Hours? Should she try to talk to Tony again? If she could reach her hand out, pick up the StarkPad – it shouldn’t be this hard. But no, Tony shouldn’t see the kid like this.

Darkness starts to creep around the edges of her vision. Her eyelids grow heavy. If she just shuts her eyes for a moment…

She thinks, as she lets herself drift off, that she hears the whoosh of doors opening somewhere nearby, thinks she sees a red shape move towards her, but she’s already too far gone to worry about it.

* * *

“Talk to me,” Tony says the instant he’s inside the new facility.

_“Miss Potts initiated a full lockdown of the lower levels. Nothing in or out.”_

“Override it.”

_“Authorisation required.”_

“It’s _me_.”

_“You know I have to ask, Boss.”_ FRIDAY sounds faintly apologetic. _“It’s how you programmed me.”_

Tony sighs. “Override authorisation September Edwin eight five platypus.”

_“Confirmed.”_ The elevator door opens. _“This section and the first room on the bottom floor are uncontaminated, but once you go through the first door, I will have to seal it behind you.”_

“I know.”

_“And the neutralisation was only simulated at a ninety-six percent chance of success–“_

“I _know_. Better than nothing, though, right?”

_“Indeed.”_

The elevator starts moving down. It’s a quick, smooth ride – of course it is, Tony designed it. He steps out, heart in his throat; just a few more doors, and he’ll be there. He hopes he’s been fast enough.

Stepping into the lab is worse than anything his brain could have conjured up. People – his employees, people he knows – are scattered around the floor, lying down, propped up against a wall.

_“Pathogen detected.”_

“No shit.”

_“Sealing suit and dispersing air-clearing liquid.”_

With any luck, this will trap and kill the virus molecules and he can get on with Phase Two. He spots Pepper’s hair and makes a beeline, squatting down next to them.

_“The concentration of pathogens in the air is decreasing.”_

Pepper’s head is resting back against the wall, her eyes closed, and one hand is around Peter’s shoulders, the other in his hair, as he slumps halfway in her lap. Happy is unconscious as well, but he looks like he was trying to reach out to the kid.

A weird, grotesque tableau of Tony’s family, sweetness in the most horrific circumstances.

_“I estimate it is safe to begin administering the cure,”_ FRIDAY says.

“About time.” Tony goes to Peter first, placing the oxygen mask over his nose and giving the attached valve-bag a pump. Then Pepper, then Happy, and by that time, Peter’s back, wheezing horribly but alive, and looking at Tony like he’s from outer space.

“Wha…”

“Really good to see you, kid,” Tony says gently, and stands, moving to the closest group of employees.

He makes his way around the room, pumping the gas into people’s airways. Sometimes, he’ll go to reach out to someone and FRIDAY will stop him with a soft, _“Boss.”_

Too many. People who worked for him, people he was supposed to keep safe, not expose them to crazy murderers he should never have hired.

_“Pathogen neutralised,”_ FRIDAY says. _“I am ending the lockdown, and it is safe to open your suit, Boss.”_

“Alert all the closest hospitals,” Tony says quietly. “They’re still going to need treatment.” With that, he stumbles back to Pepper, Happy and Peter.

Pepper watches him through half-closed eyes, clearly fighting to stay awake, while Peter hasn’t moved from his spot on her shoulder. Tony flips his helmet open, reaches out, pulls them both towards him. He could have lost them.

“Mr Stark,” Peter mumbles, like he still can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“Yeah?”

“Wha’re you doin’?”

“It’s called a hug, Parker.” It’s a little more than that; he’s holding the kid so tightly he doesn’t think he can let go, because Tony sent them here and he pushed Pepper to hire Lowell and he could have lost them, he could have, so easily.

Happy glances at him, one hand rubbing his chest, and Tony rests his chin on top of Peter’s head.

“You good, Hap?”

“Give me a minute.” But he holds his hand out, and Tony takes it, squeezes.

“Tony,” Pepper breathes. “I told you–“

“And I told you I’ll fix it.” Tony kisses her cheek, then the top of Peter’s head. “I did, I sorted it. We’re fine. But we probably need to get all of you to the medbay. Like, stat.”

“Okay,” Pepper murmurs. “What about everyone that was down here?”

“Most of them will be fine.”

“Most of them?” She closes her eyes. “Shit, I shut us all in–“

“You did the right thing,” Tony says, “exactly the right thing. I saw his research – you couldn’t ever have let that thing out into the world.”

“I know,” Pepper says quietly, “I know.”

It’s not her usual ballpark; she makes judgment calls every day, but Tony’s the one who’s used to holding lives in his hands.

“I tried to catch it,” Peter says, the words still catching the back of his throat a little, “I tried. I should’ve known something was up earlier, but–“

“Stop that,” Tony says, “stop. You know your spidey sense is about as useful as a Remembrall sometimes. You’re all safe and alive, and that’s all I give a shit about, really.”

Happy frowns. “Gonna have to empty this building out. Do a thorough deep clean and disinfection.” 

“Hap, stop asset managing for five seconds.”

“But I’m Asset Manager.”

“Okay, well, you’re on mandatory sick leave. And you, Pep. Especially you, kid. No spidering.” Tony ruffles the kid’s hair.

“But–“

“Tony’s right, sweetheart,” Pepper says gently. “You need to recover.”

“Fine.”

“You two are getting along, at least,” Tony says. “You better not start conspiring against me.”

“What can I say, Mr Stark?” Peter says. “Nearly dying is a great bonding experience.”


	23. What’s A Whumpee Gotta Do To Get Some Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Pete? Peter? Can you hear me buddy?” 
> 
> Peter just groaned. Why couldn’t he ever just get a full night of sleep? Why must he always wake up and do the responsible thing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this chapter has roughly (nothing) to do with sleep deprivation... but it is what it is soooooo :)

It wasn’t that Peter didn’t want to sleep. But life was… busy. He had school, and decathlon, and spider-man, and Mr. Stark had made the internship a real thing - which Peter was so thankful for. But time was… slipping through his fingers. 

He was doing everything in his ability to live, breath, and speak to his friends and family on a semi-regular basis. 

So yeah… sleep had been put on the back burner for a while now. 

The decathlon team was riding on their school bus, Peter leaning on Ned’s shoulder, about two seconds away from falling asleep, when his spider-sense went haywire. Peter sat up straight, his head snapping side-to-side. 

“Dude, what’s going on?” Ned asked, and before Peter could react, something slammed into the side of the school bus. 

Peter grabbed Ned, putting one of his hands between his friend’s head and the window as the bus careened out of control. It slid around on the icy bridge, and Pete could feel it in his chest that nothing good was going to come from it. 

The bus raced towards the edge of the bridge, and Peter knew that now was the time. Everyone would know who he was, but that didn’t matter compared to the life of his friends. 

Peter snapped his wrists together, and his web-shooters snapped closed around his wrist. Peter jumped up, grabbing onto the ceiling before propelling himself out the window. 

He burst onto the side of the bus just as it began to break through the barriers and fall. Peter grabbed onto the bus’ roof, sticking to it as he shot a web to the underside of the bridge. 

The web snappe tight, and Peter grunted from the weight of it. The river underneath him was raging, the ice and snow around them was brutally cold. 

Peter bit his lip as the weight of the bus began to burn his shoulders. There was no way to lower everyone down, he’d have to figure out how to pull them up. 

“Michelle!” Peter yelled down, hoping they could hear him over the sound of their screams. 

“Peter?” He singled in on her, she sat two seats down, sitting against the back of the bus seat she’d been behind. 

“Open - the emergency door!” Peter panted as he re-adjsuted his grip. He could hear everyone yelling about how Peter was Spider-Man, they were too distracting. “Make them shut up! I need to get you guys out of there!” Peter yelled as loud as he could to her, and she gave a sharp nod. 

A few “Everybody shut-up!”’s later, and Peter was revelling in the silence. 

“Okay, I’m going to do my best to raise everyone up, alright? Just, be still! Okay! Hang on!” And Peter gripped the bus with his feet, willing them to stick as strong as they would. He grabbed onto his web with both hands and began to climb. 

Peter’s muscles began to shake as they reached about fifteen feet left. He was slowing down, but he couldn’t stop. 

Peter wanted to quit, but then he heard something below him. Cheering. He could hear his classmates cheering him on. Begging him. He couldn’t let them down. 

Peter grit his teeth, exhaustion egging him down as he continued to fight. Up… up… up. 

His hand reached the concrete of the bridge, and Peter wanted to cry from relief. 

“Alright! Everyone out!” 

Students began to climb out, one by one as Peter held on as tightly as he could. 

Ned was in the middle of climbing out, the last person on the bus when Peter heard it. 

The manical laugh that sent chills down his spine. 

Peter looked out over the ravine, as Ned stepped over the edge of the bridge. Everyone was safe. 

But now Peter knew exactly why they’d gone flying off the cliff.

The Green Goblin was flying straight towards Peter. Laughing, laughing, laughing. 

He was too close. Peter wanted to dodge the spacecraft that was sent in the air, but it would have left his friends straight in its path. 

He dropped the bus, and jumped, tackling straight into the goblin. 

Peter grabbed the Goblin’s mask, pulling and shoving as fingers ripped at his arms. Razor blades cut into him as the aircraft began to twist and turn in the air. The Goblin threw and elbow back, hitting Peter square in the jaw - stars shot across his vision as the goblin aimed his aircraft towards the crowd of students on the bridge. 

Peter could feel blood running down his chin as he looked down at the controls on the aircraft. 

He knew exactly what he had to do. 

Peter threw himself down to the bottom of the craft, ripping out wires - sending them plummeting straight towards the river. 

The Goblin cried out as they began to spin.    
Peter looked up, about to shoot a web, to try and pull himself to safety, when the Goblin’s hands wrapped around his wrists. 

The monster squeezed, and Peter could feel the snap as the webshooters broke in two. 

His vision blacked out the second he hit the frigid water. 

* * *

Peter woke up to something warm being wrapped around his freezing body. He wasn’t shivering- thought that maybe he should be. There were straps all across his body, and Peter could feel a horrible pain radiating from his head and his leg. 

Peter began to cough, his lungs and ribs aching. He wanted to ask what was happening, but he could barely do more than squint his eyes open. 

There were so many lights - flashing all around him. It was - it was so cold outside. Peter heard voices... so many voices. Then he was moving, but he couldn’t stop himself from closing his eyes once more. 

Not until he heard the voice.

“Pete? Peter? Can you hear me buddy?” 

Peter just groaned. Why couldn’t he ever just get a full night of sleep? Why must he always wake up and do the responsible thing? 

“Peter, open your eyes?” That was Mr. Stark. Oh he was gonna be so mad if Peter was late to the internship again. 

Peter peeled his eyelids open, content to find Mr. Stark leaned over him. 

“Hey - hey buddy. We’ve got you, okay? You saved them all, alright? So, you can rest now. We’ll take good care of you.” Tony rested his hand on Peter's shoulder, and the man’s permission was all he needed to fall straight back into a deep sleep. 


	24. you're not making any sense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stark smiles as Bobby goes to put the blindfold on, a little nervously. “Is that really necessary?”
> 
> Bobby hesitates. Unless the kid’s involved, Stark really is a model prisoner. Maybe the blindfold is overkill.
> 
> “Don’t listen to him,” Bobby’s partner snaps from the door. “He’s a sly bastard.”
> 
> “Sorry, man,” Bobby says. “Orders.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's 'blindfolded' and 'sensory deprivation' featuring an outsider pov. enjoy!
> 
> warnings for mentions of torture and tony being incredibly manipulative to protect peter

The boy stirs first.

Bobby watches as he pulls himself back to consciousness, blinking, and freezes when he takes in his surroundings. Fear flashes across his face for the briefest second before he huddles closer to the other prisoner.

It’s a cell with a lot of visibility. The upper half of the walls are glass panels. No privacy, but Tony Stark is too much of a risk to be left unsupervised.

Despite his slightly greater body mass, Stark sleeps much longer than the kid, but eventually he regains consciousness too, scowling at the cell, at the guards surrounding it. His gaze sears into Bobby when it lands on him.

They have their orders. Stark is to be blindfolded and taken to the workshop every morning, watched fastidiously and cautiously, and returned to the cell in the evening. The kid is nothing more than a laboratory experiment, and is to be treated with all the care that would be afforded to a petri dish.

“Gentlemen,” Stark says wryly. He’s shifted, ever so slightly, putting himself between them and the kid. “Any chance I get to meet our gracious host?”

Probably not. Bobby hasn’t even met the boss. They just have their orders.

Another guard tosses a couple of supermarket sandwiches at their feet. “Eat up. Quickly.”

Stark narrows his eyes but pulls the sandwiches back towards him, offering one to the kid. Bobby wonders if having four guards watching them eat is disconcerting.

“So, what’s the plan, guys?” Stark says cheerfully. He has one hand on the kid’s wrist, like a silent reassurance. 

“You have a list of instructions in the workshop,” Bobby says. “If you need any materials, you tell one of us.”

“Oh, well, you’ve falsely imprisoned the right man. And his intern.”

“The subject will not be joining you. He is scheduled for testing.”

The kid sets his jaw and glares. 

“That’s not going to work for us,” Stark says calmly, but there’s a trace of panic.

“We don’t give a shit what works for you,” the man beside Bobby spits. “You work for _us_.”

* * *

The next morning, Bobby’s assigned to patrol, and he and his partner reach the cell just as they’re taking the prisoners for the day.

“Leave him–!”

“No! Don’t hurt him, please – I’m coming, I’m coming – please.”

“Mr Stark–“

They drag the kid out, then Stark, pulling them in opposite directions despite their struggles. They’re keeping the kid drugged, Bobby thinks, to make him easier to handle. Both of them have hoods over their head – they’ve been ordered to keep the prisoners blindfolded whenever they leave the cell.

Then they’re gone, the corridor’s quiet again, and Bobby continues on his rounds. 

* * *

They’re rotated every day in a seemingly random order. Probably to throw the prisoners off. On the days he has to supervise Stark in the lab, Bobby watches him in awe.

Tiny parts come from seemingly nowhere, slotting seamlessly into something larger. He’s so focused, so careful, only looking up to make a dry comment or to ask for another coffee.

Until it’s something else.

“Do I get to know your name?” he asks, his gaze not wavering as he solders a wire.

What harm could it do? “Bobby.”

“Tony.”

“I know.”

“The kid’s name is Peter.”

That throws Bobby for a loop. He’d never thought about it, never even wanted to know, but now he has a name for the kid they drag to the lab every morning. 

Stark is watching him now, unreadable.

“He’s not human,” Bobby says eventually. That’s what they were told. They weren’t given the kid’s name, because he doesn’t deserve to have one.

“He’s the most human person I’ve ever known,” Stark says, and turns back to his work. “Another coffee would be great.”

* * *

Another day, another rotation. Bobby takes his mug of coffee down to the observation room.

The kid isn’t in the lab today. They’ve moved on to testing his enhancements: his strength, his reflexes – and on this particular day, his senses. 

He sips his coffee, watches the kid on the grainy monitor. The infrared camera doesn’t show every detail, but he’s curled up in a corner, arms over his head. 

“Sens dep,” one of his colleagues says. “Seeing how acute his senses really are. The stronger they are, the worse being deprived of them must be, right?” He says it matter-of-fact. Clinical. He’s just observing an experiment.

“Right,” Bobby agrees, and thinks of Stark saying _his name is Peter_ and _he’s the most human person I’ve ever known._

On the screen, Peter shudders and huddles into himself, tugging on a strand of his own hair. Bobby sips his coffee. 

* * *

Night patrol. Bobby shines his torch through the glass of the cell. Stark lifts his head, squints with one eye.

He’s holding the kid against his side, both of them huddled on the cot together. It’s protective, caring, but he still raises a hand in a friendly, if tired, wave.

Bobby waves back and carries on down the corridor. 

* * *

It’s another morning, and the kid has been dragged away again. He looks defeated now, letting his head hang as he’s pulled from the cell.

Stark smiles as Bobby goes to put the blindfold on, a little nervously. “Is that really necessary?”

Bobby hesitates. Unless the kid’s involved, Stark really is a model prisoner. Maybe the blindfold is overkill.

“Don’t listen to him,” Bobby’s partner snaps from the door. “He’s a sly bastard.”

“Sorry, man,” Bobby says. “Orders.”

Stark shrugs and grins, as if to say ‘what can you do?’ so Bobby pulls the blindfold over his head and leads him to the workshop.

* * *

“Go check on Stark,” their supervisor orders one day. “He likes you.”

“What am I checking?” Bobby asks.

“I don’t think he’s following the agreement, making what he’s supposed to make. It's been two months; we should have something by now.”

“Yessir.”

“And remind him that it’s in the subject’s best interests to comply.”

Bobby nods, checks his gun, and makes his way down to the lab, nodding at the guard stationed outside.

“Bobby!” Stark says cheerfully. “Thought it wasn’t your day.”

“Just checking in,” Bobby says. “How’s your work going.”

“It’s going.”

“Are you, uh, following your instructions?”

“Ah.” Stark grins, picks up something from the worktable, turns it over in his hands. “Am I being scolded?” 

“You just need to remember that the subject–“

“Peter.”

Bobby stops. He doesn’t know what else to say, so he just raises his gun. “Do as we’ve asked you–“

“Are you a parent, Bobby?” Stark says, conversational, not a shit given about the gun pointed at his head.

“Uh, no.”

“Figured.” He keeps tinkering with what’s on his desk, doesn’t turn around, and now Bobby is mesmerised, unable to move, to look away. “You seemed real cool with letting a kid get tortured. Still, guess that means you couldn’t have seen this coming, so don’t blame yourself.”

“What–?”

The wall of the lab explodes, throwing Bobby backwards. He rolls to his feet, arm thrown up to shield his eyes, and sees something stalking towards him.

Iron Man stops, looms over him. The faceplate folds back, and the full force of Stark’s anger almost crushes Bobby like a weight. He’s going to die.

“Let me give you some advice, for the next time you find yourself in a ‘just following orders’ situation,” Stark hisses. “Don’t _ever_ underestimate what parents do for their kids.”

Then he’s gone, blasting through the door and charging down the corridor. Bobby gasps out a shaky breath.

He raises a hand to his earpiece. “Stark is out. Heading towards the lab.” After taking another moment to catch his breath, he reaches out for his gun.

A foot appears out of nowhere, holding down the barrel, and Bobby turns to see Captain America.

“Son, I wouldn’t do that.”

_Shit_. Bobby tries to reach for his comm again, but something grabs his hands and pins them behind his back.

“I _really_ wouldn’t do that,” a woman’s voice purrs, in a tone that suggests she hopes he does.

“Nat.”

“Fine.” She handcuffs Bobby's wrists around one of the workbench legs and stands. “Three guesses where Tony went.”

“Follow the trail of destruction,” the Captain agrees, and they sprint out of the workshop. “Okay, Nat and I are in, moving down the southeast side. Sound your positions…” His voice fades out.

Bobby waits. No one comes to free him. He can’t even hear footsteps outside the door.

More voices break the silence after a while, but quieter, calmer. War Machine steps back through the destroyed door, followed by Iron Man, who’s carrying the kid.

He’s curled in on himself, one arm clutching his chest, like he’s injured somewhere. His white hospital gown is spotted with something dark, and his head is turned into Stark’s shoulder. Stark isn’t looking anywhere else but at him.

“Hey,” Bobby calls, thinking fast. If the Avengers are here, then SHIELD or the government might not be far behind. “You gonna let me out of these?”

“Sorry, man,” Stark says, and doesn’t even glance at him. “Orders.”

Bobby watches as they step back through the hole in the wall, War Machine keeping a watchful eye out as Stark cradles the kid, murmuring something quiet and gentle. Not a look, not even a trace of the charm or friendliness he’d shown over the past few weeks.

Yeah, Stark’s a sly bastard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you feel sorry for bobby, don't


	25. I think I’ll Just Collapse Right Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do not go gentle into that good night,
> 
> Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
> 
> Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay.. okay so I know - I know most of y’all don’t trust me after chapter 19 I was trying to be good... I really was, but Um... I did a bad thing again. 
> 
> Have you guys seen Interstellar? 
> 
> YeH...

Peter leaned against the wall of the New York Sanctum. His blood was boiling as he watched Tony and Dr. Strange slide into their space suits. 

Peter didn’t know exactly what was going on. He’d been told that the mission was vital to the safety of the planet. Dr. Strange had insisted that Mr. Stark was vital for the mission, that no one else could complete the task at hand. 

Peter could still see the look on Mr. Stark’s face as he tried to explain the mission to Peter. Peter had run through all of the other possibilities. Carol was still recovering from the snap, her body too weak to do much more than walk around the compound doing Physical therapy with Rhodey - if you asked Peter, by the way the two of them looked at one another, their sessions were going great. 

The Guardians were off the grid, and Strange insisted this was time sensitive. Banner was still recovering from his snap as well… it had taken a lot of him. Physically and mentally. 

Tony has tried to express to Peter that someone else could do this, that Tony had given enough, but they hadn’t come to an agreement.

Tony has already said goodbye to Pepper. His wife telling him that if he didn’t come home, she would never forgive him again. 

Mr. Stark walked over to Peter, his helmet tucked between his arm and his side. 

The man could barely look into Peter’s eyes, but he let out a deep sigh. An exhale that released every emotion the two of them held. 

“Pete… I can’t leave with you angry at me.” 

“Then I’ll stay angry.” Peter grumbled. 

“Buddy, I-I have to do this. You know I wouldn’t go if I had any other choice.” Tony stepped in closer but Peter just pressed against the wall. “It's not all that bad, it’ll be fine. I’ve got the weird doctor with me. And hey, from what I’ve heard, when I get back, I may just be the same age as you.” 

Peter’s heart dropped and he looked up, his jaw clenching. “You don’t know when you’re coming back.” He stated simply, anger raging through him. 

“Pete-“

Peter shoved Tony, harder than he normally would as Peter stormed past him. 

“You don’t know when you’re coming back! How could you do this? I-how could you?” Peter’s voice shook as he turned back to look at Tony, ignoring the way Dr. Strange was standing awkwardly in the background. 

“That’s not fair, you know I don’t have a choice.” Tony insisted, his own voice rising. 

“Then take me with you!” Peter yelled. “I’m smart, I’m strong! I can help you!” Tony just have a kurt shake of his head. “Take me with you!” 

“No, I can’t. Not with the uncertainties-“

“If there’s uncertainties then you shouldn’t be going. You have given too much… I- I have lost too much.” Peter’s voice broke, his eyes looking down at the ground. 

“I’m sorry,” Tony stepped in to put a hand on Peter’s shoulder, but the anger was building back up in him. 

With Mr. Stark still calling his name, Peter stormed down the massive stairs of the sanctum and out of the room. 

* * *

Peter didn’t leave completely. He stepped onto the edge of a building, watching for the ship the two men were taking. He finally allowed the tears to fall, as his chest constricted. It would take them at least two years to reach the place they were going. Something about the planet messing up Strange's ability to do his… weird transport thing. 

It would take them two years to get there. Two years. Peter would be graduated from college by the time Mr. Stark made it to the planet. It would take them two more years to make it back. Peter would be working then. Probably at Stark Industries… he may ever be married. Hopefully to Michelle. Mr. Stark was going to miss so much of his life. 

Peter continued to weep as he watched the top of the sanctum open, the ship beginning its ascent. 

He watched as Mr. Stark drifted away from him. 

* * *

_ Do not go gentle into that good night, _

_ Old age should burn and rave at close of day; _

_ Rage, rage against the dying of the light. _

_ Though wise men at their end know dark is right, _

_ Because their words had forked no lightning they _

_ Do not go gentle into that good night. _

_ Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright _

_ Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, _

_ Rage, rage against the dying of the light. _

_ Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, _

_ And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, _

_ Do not go gentle into that good night. _

_ Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight _

_ Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, _

_ Rage, rage against the dying of the light. _

_ And you, my father, there on the sad height, _

_ Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. _

_ Do not go gentle into that good night. _

_ Rage, rage against the dying of the light. _

* * *

Peter did many things while Mr. Stark was on the trip to his destination. 

He worked as Spider-Man. Doing everything he could to keep New York City safe. 

He graduated with his Master’s in biomechanics two years ahead of time. 

Peter moved into an apartment with MJ. 

He held May’s hand throughout her battle with breast cancer. She came out of it stronger. She always was a fighter. 

The third year since Mr. Stark’s departure came and went. Peter was head of a research group out of SI, but his primary focus remained on saving New York. May and Happy got married. 

Peter sat next to Pepper, holding her hand as the two cried. A mixture of tears. Both hopeful for the new love in front of them, and grieving for the man who wasn’t between them. 

Peter knew that anyone that wanted to communicate with Tony was able to send email videos to the aircraft. But every time he thought he should sit down to record one, or watch one of the hundreds Tony had sent to him, he got so sick he almost couldn’t stand. 

On the fourth year, Peter and Michelle broke up. Peter was too broken to do much more than drink. 

Happy and May were there for him, but all Peter wanted was Mr. Stark. 

On the fifth year, Peter sobered up. Started working as Spider-Man again. He asked Pepper for the first time… when is Tony coming back? 

She just shook her head, a sad - accepting - smile on her face. 

“I don’t know.” Was her response and Peter could see it. He could see the way she was okay with this. He could see that she had known all along that Mr. Stark was too fast, too strong, too bright to stay around for long. She’d accepted long ago the fact that she would die without him by her side. 

Peter had gone back to his bottle that night. 

Mr. Stark stopped responding to videos eight years into his journey. No one knew what happened. If they were still alive. If there was any way they would come back. 

20 years later, Peter buried his first loved one. 

The cancer had come back. It was too strong in her body for her to fight off at her age. 

Peter and Happy stood beside one another that day. Broken hearts holding onto one another. 

Peter buried more loved ones that he ever cared to. 

Michelle held his hand throughout the entirety of his losses. 

It hurt the most to bury Pepper. He’d sat beside her throughout the remainder of her life. He’d recorded her last video for her. He’d promised her that if he saw Mr. Stark again, he’d assure the man of the fact that she wasn’t mad at him. That she understood his desperation to do the right thing. To save the earth. 

In all of his life experiences, in all of his ups and downs, for 39 years, there was only one thing that Peter Parker refused to do. 

He refused to make one of those damn videos.

* * *

It wasn’t until August 10th…39 years since Mr. Stark left earth that Peter sat down in front of his desktop. 

He’d just kissed Michelle goodnight, just called his children to check in on them with their families. 

He sat down in front of his computer with tears filling his eyes. It had been a terrible day. 

Peter Parker turned fifty-three that day. 

He clicked on his video camera. 

“Hey, Mr. Stark.” Peter looked at the camera, every bit of him filled with anger and grief. The years of loss surging through him, crashing like a tidal wave. “I never did make one of these when you were still responding. And ever since you stopped responding I’ve… I’ve had to live with it. 

You know, I’ve got so much anger towards you. I have had to fight through… so much. Alone. I lost...everyone that I loved.” Peter was sobbing at this point, speaking through his tears as best he could. Every breath was stunted with a tear, his vision blurred with the weight of the grief he was holding. “I had to learn what it was like to build a family in my own. I had to apologize for you time and time again. I had to hold the hands of the people you loved as they wasted away all because you couldn’t  _ fucking stay _ !” Peter screamed, hitting his hands on the desk before him, before dropping his head, sobs wracking through his entire body. “I have missed you. Every single day.” Peter’s words were ground out from him through gritted teeth. “And you know why I’m making this video? Because this is a special day. Because one time, thirty-nine years ago, you told me the one day when you came back, I might be the same age as you. Well… it’s my birthday, Mr. Stark…I’m fifty-three. So now would be a really good time for you to come back.” 

Peter spit out the last few words and closed off the computer, pressing send in the video before he could stop himself. 

* * *

Peter lay on the hospital bed, machines keeping him alive. Michelle say next to him, her hair gray and her hands wrinkled as she kissed the back of his hand. 

He didn’t have long now. His body finally failing him. 

Honestly, peter had always been certain he would die young. But to have lived long enough to see his children get married, to meet his grandchildren, to live a long life with Michelle, it was more than he could have asked for. 

Peter had a sudden thought. 

“Em? Em?” His voice was weak, tired. 

His wife looked at him, her brown eyes warming every inch of him. “I need to see them, the videos. I need to see them all.” 

She had understood immediately. It hadn’t taken much time to get it set up. 

Peter watched every single one. He revelled in Mr. Stark’s face. Looked at the eyes he’d missed. He wept as the man’s voice washed over him. God how he’d missed that voice. 

When Peter slept that night, it was with a peace that he’d never thought he would have.   
  


* * *

Peter was caught in a deep sleep when voices pushed into his head. 

It was Michelle. 

It was… it was the recordings. It had to be. 

“Peter?” It was so close, so clear. It wasn’t the recordings he’d heard. It was Tony Stark. 

Peter opened his eyes, the oxygen machine working to push air into his lungs. 

And right above him, was Tony Stark. 

In the flesh. After 61 years. 

Peter didn’t speak. Mr. Stark didn’t speak as tears ran down his face. 

Peter just reached a shaking hand up, wiping a tear from Mr. Stark’s cheek. 

“Hey, kid.” Mr. Stark’s voice wobbled, but Peter revelled in the warmth of his tone. 

“I don’t think you can call me that anymore, Mr. Stark.” Peter muttered. Tony just laughed through the tears. 

“Yeah, I don’t think I can either… but,” Mr. Stark slid his hand into Peter’s. “I guess you’ll always be my kid.” 


	26. presumed dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ah, I wondered when we’d be seeing one of your friends, Stark.”
> 
> _Not Peter not Peter please not Peter–_
> 
> “The itsy-bitsy spider climbed up the water spout.” Evans leans backwards, seeming almost amused. Peter’s nickname, one of Tony’s favourites, sounds wrong in his mouth. “Still, suppose I’d better deal with this. Engage perimeter defences.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another alt prompt for today, because the day i don't write presumed dead is the day to presume me dead
> 
> also if you haven't already noticed, i am Terrible™ at replying to comments, but i love all of them, you're all the best!
> 
> spoilers for spies in disguise, i guess?

“It must be somewhere over there,” Peter says, squinting over the little rise they’re crouched behind. 

“That’s where the signal’s coming from,” Tony agrees. “Underground, maybe.”

Peter nods. His suit eyes look eerie in the darkness, the only thing Tony can see clearly of him. “So, what are we doing?”

“ _We_ are doing nothing. _You_ are going back into the forest to find cover and sending a signal to the team. I am getting closer and checking it out.”

Peter’s white eyes narrow, obviously unimpressed. 

They’ve been tracking a weapons manufacturer for days, trailing him in a game of cat and mouse across most of New York state and into Pennsylvania. Tony had offered to take the kid ahead, knowing between them they’d be quicker and stealthier than the whole team. 

And now they’ve found him. And Peter is being Peter. 

“I’m quieter than your suit,” he argues. “It would be better for me to move in closer.”

“You know he has lots of dangerous toys. If he starts shooting, guess whose armour is stronger?” Which reminds Tony, he really needs to offer that nanotech suit to Peter again.

The kid gives him a curt nod, and Tony lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

“Good man. All right. Make sure you’re out of range of any scanners he might have before you ping the team. Then wait for them. They won’t be long; they have the jet.”

“And you?”

“I’m Iron Man,” Tony says with a grin. “Go on, get a shift on.”

Peter nods again and stands, sprinting away until Tony loses sight of him in the darkness and the trees.

“All right, Fri,” he says, “just you and me.”

* * *

The signal must be coming from underground, because Tony has been standing on this knoll of grass, where the tracker should be, for ten minutes.

He sighs and steps off, striding a little further. “Can you see any way in, Fri?”

_“Scanning for weaknesses.”_

He takes another step, and the ground seems to rumble beneath his feet.

“Shit–“ Tony hisses, and takes off, hovers, watches in disbelief as the ground below him opens up like a fucking trapdoor. “Uhh, did we just…find the entrance?”

“ _It would seem so,”_ FRIDAY says, sounding just as nonplussed as him.

“All right,” Tony says, and swoops down through the gap. It slams shut behind him, like jaws snapping around a catch. “They seem, ah, welcoming.”

The next second, his display goes dead and he drops like a stone, landing in darkness with a grunt.

“FRIDAY?” Tony says, groaning as he rolls over. “Fri? Shit.”

Should’ve expected the EMP, really. But he didn’t, and now he’s trapped in a useless suit underneath the ground, and if Peter’s done as he’s told, he’ll have no idea where Tony is. His fingers find the manual release for his helmet, and the faceplate folds away. It doesn’t make the blackness any less impenetrable. 

“Iron Man?” a voice says. It’s nowhere and everywhere all at once. “Nice of you to join us, Stark. You were hanging around out there for a while. Wondered if you’d ever find your way in.”

He saw Tony outside – did he see Peter? Does he know–?

Something jabs into the side of his neck, crackling with electricity, and he drops with a strangled scream.

Nothing.

* * *

“Wakey-wakey.”

Tony frowns. That’s not FRIDAY, telling him he’s late for something. It’s an unfamiliar voice, one that sends ice crawling up his spine.

“I must say, Stark, I’m honoured to have you as a guest.”

Okay, that’s definitely weird. Tony peels open one eye, clenches his fists, brings his arm up in front of him – no, his arms aren’t moving. His wrists are cuffed. He stares down at them, panic swelling in his throat.

Peter’s safe. The team is on their way. That’s what matters.

“Forgive the precautions.” A figure comes into focus: tall, but otherwise unassuming, brown hair, piercing eyes. Their weapons dealer. “It’s not every day Iron Man stops by.”

His suit is gone, Tony realises. Time to smarts his way out of this. “And who’s the gracious host?”

“Call me Evans.”

“Uh-huh,” Tony says, taking in the rest of the room. Dark, high-ceilinged, a row of monitors along the wall in front of him. “Any particular reason you got me cuffed to a chair, Evans?”

Tony can take pain. His threshold is horrifyingly high, as Bruce and Helen had discovered during one physical, although he thinks the metal cylinder that nestled in his chest for years could’ve told them that. Torture is going to be a pain in the ass, but he’ll survive.

“I want you and your buddies to stop chasing me.”

“Uh, well, there’s this little thing called the law. Heard of it? Also public safety–“

“They’ll stop coming after me if I threaten you.”

“Mm, insurance. Always a smart plan. But how long are you going to keep me around, Evans? One year? Five? Your whole life–?”

_“Proximity alert,”_ the computer says in a cool voice.

“CCTV,” Evans says, turning away from Tony to the wall of monitors.

The largest screen flicks to show the feed: a familiar red-blue-suited figure, picking his way around the entrance to the base.

_Shit_. This whole thing just got a lot worse.

“Ah, I wondered when we’d be seeing one of your friends, Stark.”

_Not Peter not Peter please not Peter–_

“The itsy-bitsy spider climbed up the water spout.” Evans leans backwards, seeming almost amused. Peter’s nickname, one of Tony’s favourites, sounds wrong in his mouth. “Still, suppose I’d better deal with this. Engage perimeter defences.”

_“Engaged.”_

“Hey, no!” Tony barks. “He’s not even anywhere near to finding the way in. Leave him alone.”

“I don’t think so, Stark.”

On screen, Peter continues his careful searching of the ground, oblivious to the danger he’s in.

_Your sense, kid! Listen to your danger sense._

“Listen,” Tony says, and to his horror, he’s really, truly panicking. “He – he’s harmless, all right? He’s young. Really – really inexperienced. There’s no way he’ll find his way down here, all right? Just – leave him–“

“Arm the nearest drone,” Evans says into his comm, like Tony hasn’t even spoken. “We have an intruder.”

“No, c’mon – Evans, listen, don’t do this.”

_“Weapon systems armed,”_ the automated voice confirms. _“Target acquired.”_

The Peter on the screen tilts his head, like he can hear something but isn’t sure what. 

“Evans, _listen_ – you don’t need to do this.”

“I wouldn’t want anyone interrupting our alone time. Least of all that bug.”

Tony scowls, and the words spill out before he can stop them. “He’s better than any of us could ever hope to be.”

He knows he’s fucked up, because Evans smirks. “I knew you had a heart in there somewhere.”

“Yeah, that’s me. Big bleeding heart. You got me. You don’t need to hurt the kid. I’ll do whatever you want. You want suits? I can do that. Just let him wander about up there. He won’t find anything. He’s not a fucking threat, goddammit!” He struggles and yanks against the cuffs holding him to the chair, but they don’t move an inch.

“Maybe he’s not a threat,” Evans says, “but I just want to see the look on your face when I do this.”

“ _Fire_ ,” the computer says, and Peter jumps, starts running, arms coming up to protect his head–

The screen goes black. Tony’s heart is in his mouth, his stomach on the floor.

“Whoops, took out my own camera,” Evans says with a laugh. “Confirm hit.”

_“Confirmed.”_

“No,” Tony gasps out. Peter can’t be dead. Every instinct in his body is screaming for him not to allow it, but it _happened_ , it’s done, and there was nothing he could do. Useless. “No!”

This is – everything he hoped he’d never feel again. It’s cold horror, dousing him like ice water, making his muscles seize, making his brain capture him in the moment, unable to escape. It’s watching Pepper fall, it’s Rhodey hitting the ground, Happy in a hospital bed.

Peter can’t be gone. It’s wrong, it’s abominable. It’s happened right in front of him.

“Down came the rain,” Evans says, “and washed the spider out.” He watches Tony for a minute, watches him fight to control his expression, to swallow the tears rising up his throat, before turning away with a scoff and stalking out.

Once he’s alone, Tony drops his head to his chest and cries.

* * *

He’s left in the dark for hours.

He knows the team is probably looking for him. Rhodey, if no one else. They’ll find him eventually. God, why did Peter have to come alone? Why didn’t he wait?

_Peter._

It’s too huge for Tony to fully comprehend. He knows he will eventually, and then the enormity of his loss will hit him. The magnitude of his own failure.

He shouldn’t have brought the kid. He should have waited for the team. Should’ve, should’ve, should’ve. Should’ve kept him safe.

God, this is going to kill him. It’s going to kill May. It’s unfathomable that Peter is just – gone, his brightness extinguished. Unfair. Incomprehensible.

When Tony gets out of here, Evans is dead.

He lifts his head, glares at the wall. Anger starts to rise in his stomach, burning hot. Rage. Hatred. How dare he? How dare he look at Peter and just decide to snuff him out? Tony’s fists clench, and he pulls at the cuffs; it’s fruitless.

There’s movement in the corridor outside.

“Hey,” someone hisses, and Tony turns his head. “Mr Stark, is that you?”

No. No way. 

A figure steps forward, passing through a faint shaft of light. It’s Peter, mask off, lightly favouring one leg. His suit is blackened in some places, as if it’s been singed, and his lip is split. 

“Mr Stark!”

“Peter,” Tony breathes. There’s no way this is happening.

“Hi!” the kid says cheerfully. “One sec, I’m gonna get you out of here.”

A tear slips down Tony’s cheek before he can stop it.

“Why are you crying?” Peter sounds alarmed. “Did they hurt you?”

“Shit, kid,” Tony says with a wet laugh. The fingers ghosting over his wrists almost feel real.

And then Peter says, “Aha,” and the cuffs slide away, back into the arms of the chair, and _God_ , he’s there, he’s alive.

“Peter,” Tony says again, and reaches out, yanks him into his arms. He can feel the way the kid stiffens in surprise, then relaxes, can feel Peter’s curls brushing his chin, his cheek.

“Are you okay?” Peter mumbles, muffled by the way his face is pressed against Tony’s shoulder. 

“Am I okay? I thought you were dead!”

“What?”

“He pulled the cameras up – you were outside, and he fired something–“

“Oh, you saw that?” Peter says. “I could sense something, but I didn’t want to look in case it tipped them off – anyway, there was this drone, and it fired some kind of bomb thing, so I webbed it all up really quick, and the thing still exploded, but I gave myself enough time to not die – like, I got super knocked out, and Sam had to come get me – you know, he was almost nice to me. Maybe I should get blown up more often–“

“No,” Tony says, and hugs him tighter, “no, never again.” 

“I’m okay,” Peter says, his arms still looped around Tony’s neck. “Uh, sorry. For not listening. In my defence, you have clearly been captured.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Tony pulls away, reluctant, one hand staying on the back of Peter’s neck. “Okay, what’s the plan here?”

“The team’s already upstairs,” Peter says. “My job was to get in and get you out. Where’s your suit?”

“I don’t know,” Tony says with a grimace. “Woke up without it.”

“Okay, I’ll ask the others. See if they can find it.” The switch from Peter to Spider-Man is startling, but it suits him; he pulls on his mask, helps Tony to his feet. “Guys? I have Mr Stark. Yeah, he’s fine. The guy took his suit, so keep an eye out for it. Yeah, we’re on our way out.” He looks back at Tony. “Okay, I’m taking you back to the jet.”

“No, I can fight – just give them a minute to find my suit–“

“No,” Peter says firmly. “I’m getting you out of here.”

“Oh, so you’ll listen to Steve but not me?”

“No,” Peter says again, but he’s getting frustrated. “I’m doing what Steve said because it’s to keep you safe. I didn’t want to do what you said because you were putting yourself in danger.”

“So you put yourself in danger as well?”

“Not on purpose! Can we please get out of here?“

“I’m staying and fighting. You, on the other hand, can get yourself out of this guy’s base before he tries to kill you again.”

Peter whips his head around suddenly, breaking free of Tony’s grasp. 

“What is it?” Tony says quietly, their argument forgotten. “Kid?”

Something lands on the ground between them, something blinking red, and Peter yells, shoves Tony backwards so hard he hits the opposite wall.

The floor where Peter was standing explodes.

Tony gasps, winded, and tries to suck in a breath, but the air is full of smoke, and he can’t see anything. “Spidey! Kid!”

“That was dramatic,” Evans says. Tony whips his head around. Nothing. Not even a shadow through the smog. “Maybe I underestimated you, bug. Itsy-bitsy climbed up the spout again.” 

Peter cries out – alive. He’s alive – and Tony scrambles to his feet, charges towards the noise. 

“Stop!” Evans snarls. “I’ll kill him.”

Tony skids to a halt, waiting for the smoke to clear, and his stomach clenches when he sees them: Evans, standing tall over a struggling figure, pressing down on his neck with a booted foot.

Peter’s fighting, arching his back off the floor in an effort to get free, but if that’s not working…

“Stronger than you expected, right, kid?” Evans says. “Stay still, now.” He must step down harder, because Peter wheezes, his suit eyes flying wide. 

“Let him go,” Tony says, forcing his voice not to waver. “It’s over. The Avengers are here. You’ve already lost.”

“Then maybe I have nothing to lose.”

Peter gasps out a choked breath, scrabbling at Evans’ foot. Tony’s useless, so fucking useless without his suit.

“He’s a kid–“

“Like you told me before?” Evans snarls. “‘He’s a kid. He’s harmless. He’s not a threat. Leave him alone. Don’t kill him.’ This harmless kid brought the Avengers right to me!”

“You don’t think kidnapping Iron Man did that, maybe?”

Evans glares. The world seems frozen for a moment before he speaks. “Interesting that he came to save you. Interesting that you keep begging me to spare his life.”

“What’s interesting about it? That’s how teams work.”

“Let me go free, and I won’t kill him.”

“Still on that leverage idea, huh? How did it work out for you the first time?”

“You know I’m not opposed to killing him, so I suggest you do as I say.”

Peter turns his head, as much as he can, and looks at Tony, as if trying to communicate something.

“It’s gonna be alright, kid,” Tony says, and he could swear Peter rolls his eyes behind the mask.

The wall behind Evans explodes, someone yells, “Tony!” and in the next second, his suit is enveloping his body. Something slams into Evans, knocking him sideways, and by the time he rolls over and tries to scramble to his feet, he has two sets of repulsors and a pair of webshooters aimed at him.

“He’s enhanced,” Tony warns Rhodey. “Be careful.”

“Hm,” Rhodey says, and fires once. The taser dart hits Evans in the chest. He seizes and goes limp. “Tony, stand down. He’s no threat anymore.”

Tony doesn’t. He keeps his repulsors pointed at Evans’ head.

“Mr Stark,” Peter says quietly. His mask is off again.

Tony wants to kill him. Even though Peter’s next to him, alive and mostly unharmed, he can’t shake the resolve, the anger. Evans tried to kill his kid.

“He’s not worth it, man,” Rhodey says, and that’s what makes Tony sigh, lower his arms. “You two good?”

Tony turns to Peter. God, if his suit wasn’t singed before, it’s now scorched, the wiring exposed in some places. “You stupid little shit.”

Peter sighs like he knew this was coming.

“Don’t ever, ever do that again!”

“Which bit?” 

“All of it. Everything. I am having heart attacks right now. Several. Multiple. All because of you.”

“Promise I will never, ever save your life again.”

“How about you do this later?” Rhodey suggests. “I’m not your damn therapist.”

“All right,” Tony says, “the kid needs a look-over. Too many near-misses for him not to be injured.”

“And you.”

“Yeah, yeah, we can hold each other’s hands at the doctor.” Tony slides his arm around Peter’s shoulders, gently tugging him closer. He’s okay. He’s okay.

“Sorry,” Peter says quietly. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“You never do,” Tony retorts. Peter butts his head into his shoulder. An apology and forgiveness, rolled into one. “Out of here, let’s go. Rhodey, you mind bringing him?”

“Oh, yeah. Uh-huh. I’ll just clean up after you. Story of my damn life.”

“Love you,” Tony calls over his shoulder as he walks away, Peter still tucked under his arm. “You limping?”

“Only a bit.”

“A bit is a bit too much for me, thanks. Your next suit is gonna be made out of bubble wrap. No – you’re getting that nanotech one you turned down. No ifs or buts.”

“I thought that was for if I joined the team?”

“No, it was for my mental and emotional health. Keep the Mark I for patrol, but next time we get a mission like this, I want you in something bulletproof. Actually, maybe you should take it on patrol, too.”

Peter watches him talk with a small smile on his bruised face. “If it makes you feel better.”

“It would. It very much would. And your aunt. Get me some brownie points with her.”

“You’re rambling, Mr Stark.”

“I’m just very, very relieved.”

“So, that suit’s an actual thing? I thought you just made it to look cool for the test.”

“Ah…”

“Oh my God!” Rhodey shouts across the room. “He still thinks it was a test? Tony, that’s so cruel, man!”

“Never really came up before now!” Tony shouts back.

“How the fuck hasn’t it–?”

“Oh, I know it wasn’t a test,” Peter says, unbothered.

“Okay,” Tony says, then, “No. What?”

“I could hear people behind the door. I knew there were reporters.”

“So why did you pretend you thought it was a test?”

Peter shrugs. “Because – I don’t know. I hardly knew you. And I didn’t want to make you feel bad by calling you out, and you were obviously trying not to make me feel bad for turning it down.”

“Oh my God,” Rhodey says again, “this is – this was meant to happen. You two were meant to find each other. Pair of goddamn dumbasses.”


	27. OK, Who Had Natural Disasters on their 2020 Bingo Card?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were to “Tucan” and Peter’s head was about to spin off with the thought of staying under the rubble long enough to get to “z” when Peter heard rustling above him. 
> 
> “Peter! Morgan!” Mr. Stark’s voice rang out above them. 
> 
> “Daddy!”
> 
> “Mr. Stark!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 27! yay! This is about as close to a crack fic I've ever gotten (at least I think) I'm not very good at crack fics, but I figured I should give y'all something lighthearted as penance for my sins :)

Peter sat on the couch in the lake house, reading over his latest Stem homework. Mr. Stark and Pepper were at some business meeting for the weekend, so Peter was asked to pull babysitting duty. Mr. Stark really only asked because he knew Peter would want to spend time with Morgan. 

Peter had gotten to the lake house that evening, and he and Morgan had spent a few hours playing with one another before he decided to get some work done. 

The weather was supposed to be nasty that weekend with storms rolling through the entire weekend. Peter had planned to show Morgan the Star Wars movies Saturday in a means to keep the girl occupied. 

He was excited about spending the weekend with Morgan. Now that he was in school for biomedical engineering, he didn’t have the same amount of time that he used to to spend with the younger Stark. After a particularly rough decision between spending one of his rare free nights with Morgan or MJ, Peter had promised Morgan a weekend with her. 

His goal was to make the weekend as enjoyable as possible. 

* * *

It was roughly three in the morning when Peter awoke to the sound of little footsteps pattering down the hallway to his bedroom in the lake house. Peter sat up, rubbing his eyes as Morgan burst into the room. A second later, thunder boomed across the room, and Peter groaned as the power in the house flickered out. 

“Petey, I’m scared!” Morgan cried, jumping into his bed. 

“Don’t worry, Mo. The backup gene-” Just then the generators kicked into gear. “Why don’t we go downstairs, huh? We could have a sleepover on the couch?” Morgan perked up at that, and she gave Peter a slight nod. 

“Yes!” 

“Alright, why don’t you go grab your pillows and blankets and I’ll meet you downstairs.”    
Morgan scattered from the room as Peter did just the same. 

Peter shot a text to Mr. Stark to let him know that the backup generators were running, but that they were both fine. 

The two set up camp on the couch, and Peter turned on old re-runs of  _ Tom & Jerry  _ and the two quickly fell asleep in their fort of pillows, blankets, and Morgan’s collection of stuffed animals. 

* * *

Peter’s dreams were interrupted with a chill running up and down his spine. He woke up slowly, blinking heavily before he realized that his spider-sense was going off. With a jerk, he sat up straight, looking around. 

The power was out again… the backup generators must have gone out. That shouldn’t be possible.

Peter stood up, and just as he did, his spider-sense wailed. With a twist, Peter grabbed his Phone and picked Morgan up, pulling a pillow from the couch and holding it against the back of her head. 

“Peter?” Her voice was quiet and scared, but Peter just turned, and started heading towards the basement.    
“Hang on, Mo. We’ve got some bad weather coming in, so our slumber party is moving downstairs.” Just as Peter finished his sentence a particularly bad gush of wind hit the windows, and the glass shattered inwards. 

Peter turned to the stairs and made a dash into the darkness. 

They almost made it to the basement when his senses went off again and Peter jumped the last few steps, landing against the concrete floor by the wall. He bent over Morgan, making sure the pillow was behind her head. 

Peter clicked the home button on his phone three times, an alert to Mr. Stark that there was trouble. He heard the building rumbling, wood splintering. 

“Hang on, Mo!” He cried just as a wooden beam came crashing down around them. 

* * *

Peter blinked awake to sniffling. 

“Peter? Peter? Wake up!” Morgan’s voice below him drew him from his sleep. 

Peter looked down from where he was leaning over her. It was so dark that he could barely make out anything even using his enhanced senses. Peter's head was pounding, but what worried him the most was the wooden beam laid across the back of his legs. 

“Are you hurt, Mo?” He mumbled, his tongue feeling numb in his mouth. He tried to find his phone, but where he felt, was just full of dust and debris, no cell phone anywhere in reach.

“No, I’m scared. Is daddy coming?” 

Peter braced himself on his forearms. Morgan was up under his chest, so the wooden beam was only on top of Peter. The problem was, he could feel the most of the weight of the beam was on his right leg. The problem with that, was due to the angle and pain radiating from his leg, he was also certain it was completely broken. He had no way of getting them out of there. No way to twist around and pull it off of him. 

“Yeah, dad is on his way right now.” Peter turned his head to cough, and he winced when he tasted iron in his mouth. Not a good sign. “Why don’t we play a game? I’m kind of bored.” Peter said, doing his best to breathe around the panic building in his chest. This was too much like homecoming… he tried to think, to have any kind of relevant thought. He couldn’t lose it. Not while he was taking care of Morgan. Not now. 

“Do you know how to play the animal game?” 

* * *

They were to “Tucan” and Peter’s head was about to spin off with the thought of staying under the rubble long enough to get to “z” when Peter heard rustling above him. 

“Peter! Morgan!” Mr. Stark’s voice rang out above them. 

“Daddy!”

“Mr. Stark!” Peter and Morgan called out at the same time. Peter was glad Mr. Stark was there. He was getting too tired, his head was starting to swim. Every breath felt like a challenge, and he was doing his best to keep himself propped up on his elbows to keep off Morgan. Every inch of him wanted to lay down, to fall asleep. 

“Hang on!” 

Peter rested his head on the ground beside Morgan, taking as deep of breaths as he could manage as he began to cough again. 

He must have faded out then, because the next thing he knew there was a hand on his back. 

“Peter? Buddy, can you hear me?” Mr. Stark’s worried voice pulled Peter from his sleep? Unconsciousness? He couldn’t tell the difference between the two now. 

“Yeah.” He grumbled. 

“Alright, I’m going to get Mo out of here, then I’m going to get you stabilized and we will get you out, alright?” 

Peter just grunted his agreement as Mr. Stark pulled a now crying Morgan out from under him. He could make out her talking and crying as Mr. Stark did his best to reassure her. 

“Peter, I’m going to fly her up to Pepper then I’ll be right back.” 

Peter wasn’t sure if he responded as he finally let himself rest against the ground, his shaking arms giving way under him. He coughed again, but this time a string of liquid fell from his mouth. Peter grunted as the pain in his chest seized. 

“Alright, I’m back. Just hang with me, pal.” Mr. Stark began to wrap a c-collar around Peter’s neck, his hands gentle as he worked around the debris. 

“I’m s’rry, Mr. S’rk. M’ssed ‘p.” Peter mumbled. He really didn’t want Mr. Stark to be mad at him. He had tried his best, he really had. 

“No, none of that. You had no clue the tornado was coming, no one did. Lightning hit the backup generators, that’s why FRI wasn’t available to let you know there was bad weather. Morgan doesn’t have a scratch on her. You did more than I could ever ask you to do. So rest right now. Let me take care of you.” 

Peter relaxed at the comforting words as he felt the beam being lifted from his legs.

“FRI, any spinal injuries?” He heard Mr. Stark talking, but honestly, he didn’t think he could reply to the man if he wanted to at this point. 

Whatever the AI said must have been satisfying to the man, because Peter felt arms on his back. “Alright, bud. This is going to be a little uncomfortable, but I’m going to get you out of here. I’ve got medical waiting up top with the good stuff. If you need to check out, that's okay.” 

When Peter was moved, he really tried to stay awake, but he knew Mr. Stark was there and Morgan was safe. Whether he wanted to or not, his body decided it was finally time to shut down, and he let it - resting in the knowledge that he was safe again. 

  
  



	28. now where did that come from?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tony–“
> 
> “Yeah, I’m a helicopter parent. I get it. Cut me some slack, I lost you for–“
> 
> And then Peter says, “Tony,” in a voice that’s barely a whimper, and Tony turns just in time to see him hit the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes this is later than normal. yes i'm sorry. yes this is day 30's prompt. yes it is the 28th. i'm trying my best
> 
> warnings: blood, stab wounds, infection, peter using big boy words
> 
> sam and bucky time!!

Tony knows, as soon as he steps out of his car, that Peter’s going to be pissed.

He hasn’t been Iron Man for years now; the Snap had been the thing to finally do him in. It had nearly done him in completely, in fact, which was a large part of the reason Pepper and Rhodey had finally put their collective foot down. Time to rest, Pepper had said, and Tony had thought, with Peter back in the realm of the solid, that he really could this time.

Foolish. Naive. Because who is Peter without Spider-Man? And who is Spider-Man if he isn’t giving Tony heart attacks every other week? The kid’s in college, and he still manages to freak him out. Never mind Happy’s cardiogram – Tony doesn’t even want to think about his.

Peter’s back in the city for a long weekend, spending Friday and Saturday with May before heading to the lake house for Sunday and Monday, because, “I only really need to be in for my labs, the rest is online so I can catch up.”

In Tony’s defence, he’d been on his way to pick Peter up anyway. It’s Saturday evening. Morgan’s dying to see him. He didn’t come all this way _just_ because he heard about Spider-Man fighting another spider man in Times Square, spilling out onto Seventh, but it certainly pressed his foot on the pedal a little harder.

Bucky and Sam get there first. Of course they do. They’re Avengers: emergency alerts go to them first; they have the equipment and the transport to travel quickly. It’s all wrapped up by the time Tony gets there, weaving through the traffic and cursing like a cabbie when he can’t get any further and has to walk. The guy is wrapped in a web cocoon in the middle of the square, glaring daggers at Peter and the others.

“Stark?” Sam notices him first. “What are you doing here?”

Peter turns, his mask eyes narrowing. Tony can’t tell if it’s confusion or something else.

“What was the situation?”

“Some guy with similar powers, minus the webs,” Peter says. “Said his name was Tarantula.”

Tony makes a face. “Stealing your thing.”

“That’s what I said!”

“You guys got this?” Tony asks. “Because I’ve driven a long way for this one, and the meter’s still running.”

Barnes snorts.

“Never have children. I mean it. All you are is a glorified Uber and personal chef.”

“I am not a children,” Peter says, “and all my stuff’s still at May’s. Tarantula dude distracted me.”

“Is there anything desperately vital there?”

“No. I have clothes in my room at yours.”

“Then let’s get going.”

“You’re very eager.”

“I haven’t seen you for ages! I get it’s convenient, having all your friends up there in Boston with you, you all get to hang out, but spare a thought for your loving and heartbroken parents.”

“You know, May isn’t nearly as dramatic as you. You’re empty-nesting hard.”

Sam and Barnes hoist Tarantula up and start to carry him over to the Quinjet, parked at the other end of the square.

Peter keeps going. “Empty-nesting so hard you had to come supervise me, apparently.”

And there it is. “I was – in the neighbourhood.”

“Are you lost? Queens is that way.” He points.

“Very funny.”

“How many times are we gonna do this, Tony?”

“I can’t just switch it off, kid.”

“I’m–“

“Legally not a children. I know. Let’s not get into it in the middle of Times Square. How does an excruciatingly awkward car ride sound to you?” Tony turns back towards the way he’d come, frowning at the traffic that’s gradually getting back to a normal New York standstill rather than a panicked standstill.

“Tony–“

“Yeah, I’m a helicopter parent. I get it. Cut me some slack, I lost you for–“

And then Peter says, “Tony,” in a voice that’s barely a whimper, and Tony turns just in time to see him hit the floor.

“Shit!” He dives forward, biting back Peter’s name before it can burst out of his mouth. Even in his panic, he’s aware they’re in public, aware that anyone could be watching, listening. “Barnes? Wilson!”

Peter shifts, one hand reaching out blindly as Tony kneels beside him. Moving. Moving is good.

“What’s wrong?” Tony says, urgent. “Where are you hurt?”

He sees it then, the hole in the suit over Peter’s abdomen, and probes it gently with his prosthetic hand; the puncture wound is round and deep, oozing blood sluggishly, but the sight of it, the smell – it makes Tony want to hurl.

“How long?” It’s infected, it must be. That’s not new.

Peter shakes his head, a pained gasp muffled behind his mask. “Tony, please…”

“I’m here, okay? I’m here, but you need to tell me what happened.”

“Tony!” he cries, and curls up on his side in a shuddering ball. 

“Stark.” Barnes is there suddenly. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Was he injured before today?”

“Don’t think so.”

“He needs a doctor,” Tony says. “Let’s get him on the jet.”

“Yeah.”

They lift Peter up together, their metal arms taking most of his weight. Tony often forgets he has one of those now, until he does something like this. Peter gasps again, but he’s tense with the strain of holding himself still.

“We’re nearly there,” Tony murmurs as he backs up the ramp, “nearly there, kid.”

“Get him on the cot,” Sam says, all business. “What’s happened?”

“Got a puncture wound on his stomach. Looks old.” Tony lays Peter on the cot and tugs his mask off as Bucky sets his feet down. “Gonna take the suit off, kid, that okay?”

Peter manages a nod, his eyes screwed tightly shut, so Tony taps the spider and pulls the suit down to his waist.

“Nah,” Sam says, leaning over, “that’s new. With his healing, an old injury should be pretty much closed by now.”

“But – it’s infected – and how the hell do you get an injury like that, anyway?”

“Sam,” Bucky says, “didn’t Tarantula have–?”

“Spurs. Shit.”

They move in the same moment, Bucky heading for the hold while Sam turns and swipes the first aid kit from its locker. It’s jarring for Tony to watch: the jokers of the team, the ones who tease Peter relentlessly like a little brother, suddenly so serious and focused.

“I need to clean it, kid,” Sam says. “You know the drill. Stings like a bitch. Bucky’s ditched you, so hold your dad’s metal hand instead.”

“Mm.” Peter clutches Tony’s hand, bites his lip. “Fuck – fuck–“

“I haven’t even started yet–“

“It hurts so bad,” Peter hisses out through clenched teeth.

“What does?” Tony says.

“My whole side.”

“Get me those spurs, Buck!” Sam yells over his shoulder. “Uh, Stark, don’t panic, but I think he’s been poisoned.”

_“What?”_

“That sounds like you’re panicking.”

Peter’s hand suddenly clenches around Tony’s with such force that anything less than vibranium would have crumpled. Sam starts to clean the wound out.

“If you hit me in the face again, we ain’t friends.”

“Again?” Tony says, searching for a distraction. Anything but the agony on Peter’s face. It’s working; he’s almost disarmed by their easy camaraderie. This is the first time he’s really seeing them all together in the field, he realises, rather than trading jabs over Chinese takeout. For the first time, he can see how they have each other’s backs, how Peter still has someone looking out for him. 

“That time we got captured. He broke his thumb to get out of his cuffs and get me out.” Sam tosses the dirty cotton ball away and starts with a clean one. “I had to reset it for him before his healing kicked in. ‘Course, that left his other hand free to clock me in the jaw.”

“You went on two,” Peter gasps.

“Everyone counts to three and goes on two, kid. If you were surprised, that’s on you.”

Peter grins, but it’s gone in the next second as he groans, one foot twitching. “Shit.”

“I’m done,” Sam says, and pulls a gauze bandage out of the first aid box. “Can you tape this down, Stark? We need to get back to the Compound.”

“Yeah.” Tony takes his spot as Sam heads to the front of the jet to start the engines. “Just need to press this down for a second, buddy, okay?”

Peter lets go of his hand and clamps his fingers around the cot railing instead. 

“Don’t break my plane.” Tony tapes the bandage and holds out his right hand for Peter to grasp again. They’re taking off, lifting above the high-rise buildings. “Gonna get you all fixed up at the new Compound.”

“It hurts,” Peter whispers.

“I know it does, I’m sorry.”

“Please make it stop,” Peter whispers, and a tear rolls down his face, “Tony, please.”

Tony takes a moment too long to respond, genuinely concerned that Peter’s in so much pain he’s past the point of pretending to be tough. “Soon as we get you to Medbay, yeah?”

Barnes finally emerges from the hold, the spurs in one hand and what looks like talons in the other. “Did you guys see he had claws? Because he really knows how to use them. Thank fuck I’m part Terminator.”

“Oh, you watched them?” Tony says, turning to him.

“They’re good, right?”

Peter lets out a wordless cry, convulses, and falls back on the cot, breathing hard. His hand is clenching spasmodically around Tony’s.

“ETA five minutes!” Sam calls back to them. “Medical team’s already on standby.”

“You hear that?” Tony murmurs, brushing a strand of hair off Peter’s forehead. When did he start sweating? “Just a few minutes.”

Nothing. Peter’s eyes are only halfway open now, staring at something only he can see.

“Peter,” Tony says sharply, “focus on me, kid. No tapping out.”

“Tony,” Peter whines, his foot twitching again, like he wants to kick out. “ _Tony_.”

“Right here, buddy.” Tony squeezes his hand. He can’t do this anymore, he can’t watch his kid writhing in pain, but what else is there to do? He’s useless, and it’s hitting him like a truck. 

“Mr Stark!” And that’s an instant no, because Peter hasn’t called him that since he was sixteen. “Mr Stark, please!”

For a second, Tony isn’t there anymore, but back on the dead planet, red dust clogging his nose, a dying child sobbing into his shoulder, but then Peter turns his head and moans, veins standing out at his temple as he clenches his teeth, and he’s back. Not there. Never again. Peter’s not going anywhere this time.

“Listen, listen.” Tony runs a hand through Peter’s hair again, smoothing it off his sweaty forehead, before dropping it to cup his cheek. “We’re nearly there. I’m gonna take those – stabby things straight down to Bruce, and we’ll figure out what it is and how to deal with it. You’re gonna be okay.”

Peter squirms again, a whimper catching at the back of his throat. Tony doesn’t know if the kid can even hear him.

“Coming in now,” Sam says, and guides the Quinjet down. “Buck, you mind dealing with our knock-off Spider-Man?”

Bucky grunts and trudges back to the hold. Tony turns Peter’s head towards him.

“How’s he doing?” Sam appears, peering over Tony’s shoulder, as the ramp opens. “Looks pretty out of it.”

“Yeah.” Tony’s heart does a painful squeeze in his chest when Peter frowns at them both in bewilderment. 

A medical team jogs up the ramp, and Tony steps back to let them by. Peter clings to his hand until they lift him up and onto the gurney and he lets go in favour of gasping out a choked yell.

“He’s gonna be fine,” Sam says. ”He’s had worse.”

Tony whips his head around. “ _When_ has he had worse?”

* * *

“I know, Maguna, but he’s not feeling well right now.”

_“Did Auntie May’s cooking make him sick?_ _”_ Morgan whispers, and Tony has to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

“I think Auntie May would be very offended at that.”

_“Well, don’t tell her. Simple.”_

“You drive a hard bargain, Morgana. Listen, with any luck, he can come tonight and then you’ll still have a day with him, and maybe we can arrange for another weekend as well.” Tony glances down at Peter’s sleeping face. “Tell Mommy I’ll call her later, okay?”

_“Okay,”_ Morgan groans. _“Tell Peter I miss him.”_

“Will do, little miss. Love you. Bye.” Tony hangs up and pinches the bridge of his nose to try to alleviate the blooming headache. “Damn, kid. Never were one for half-measures, were you?”

“No.”

Tony drops his hand. Peter blinks back at him, looking confused, but not so confused he has no idea who Tony is, so that’s progress.

“Uhh, are we in the Compound?” Peter shifts, tries to sit up. “I was, like, just in Times Square. What happened?”

“You don’t remember any of that?” Tony says. “Nothing?”

“You showed up?” Peter says. “And now I’m here.”

“Okay.” It takes a second for Tony to collect himself. “Well, Tarantula – totally stealing your thing – got a bit stabby with some poisoned spurs, and you had an incredibly delirious flight upstate. That was yesterday evening. You passed out, slept for thirteen hours, and it’s now eight in the morning.”

“I kinda remember…” Peter squints, deep in thought. “Oh, Sam told you about the thumb thing, didn’t he?”

“Yes. Although, in hindsight, it’s incredibly funny that you punched Captain America in the face.”

“I felt so bad,” Peter moans, throwing an arm over his face. “He won’t let me live it down. Ever.”

“You three seem like a good team.”

“Yeah,” Peter says. “We just – I trust them, and they trust me. We work really well together. We’re – yeah, we’re a team.” He shoots Tony a sideways grin. “Does that soothe your old man nerves?”

“It does, actually. They have your back, when I can't, so…” Tony sniffs.

“I know you worry,” Peter says. “You and May are peas in a pod.”

“May handles it better.”

“Probably.” Peter looks up at him. “Sorry about our weekend.” 

“There’ll be other weekends. Pep’s just glad you’re okay, and Morgan’s Morgan. You might have to make it up to her in juice pops.”

“As per usual, then.”

“Absolutely.” Tony reaches out and ruffles his hair. “So tell me about the time Barnes broke your nose on a mission?”

Peter groans.


	29. I Think I Need a Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He saw Peter yelling as he held his right hand steady with his left. 
> 
> The kid snapped. 
> 
> Tony’s heart fell. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is! And holy cow! We are almost done! My mind is blown! This month both feels as though it has flown by and also like the longest month of my life haha! 
> 
> But, you know what?? You guys make it SO worth it! Almost 17,000 hits?? Y'all have got to be kidding me! I am absolutely flabbergasted! Thank you all for your endless support! I hope these last few chapters are everything you could have wanted them to be!! <3 
> 
> (Let's just say, the last chapter is going to be veryyyyyy fun for Ciara and I ;)
> 
> Also, I’m under tornado watch, flashfloods, and tropical storm watch for like... the next 24 hours. Yay.

Tony hated the sound of the ventilator. The  _ whoosh  _ of the machine only worked to remind him that Peter wasn’t breathing on his own. Tony hated that Peter had been so stupid. He hated that despite his best efforts to get the kid back after the snap, Peter’s life still hung in the balance. 

Tony couldn’t stop seeing it. Every time he closed his eyes, every time he tried to rest, he heard the snap. He saw Peter falling against the rubble of concrete. The burns running from the tip of Peter’s right hand up to the entire side of his face. 

Tony remembered every detail of that horrific day.

It had started so wonderfully. 

The relief Tony had felt when they noticed that Bruce’s snap worked, knowing that he would get the kid back, it felt too good to be true. And it had been. 

Tony remembers seeing Peter walk up to him, the way the kid had started his nervous rambling that used to drive Tony insane. But all Tony had been capable of was watching Peter as he spoke, before he broke out of his trance and yanked the kid into his arms. He’d just paused. Resting in the knowledge that he had done it. 

Then the fight had continued to escalate. Too much was on the line. 

It was when T’Challa had thrown the gauntlet to Peter, and Tony had turned to see the desperation in Peter’s face as fire rained down around them, that he’d known exactly what the kid was going to do. 

Tony tried to yell, to make his way to Peter, to do anything he could to stop Peter from pulling the gauntlet on, but an explosion sent Tony flying backwards. Chaos rained around them. 

He saw Peter yelling as he held his right hand steady with his left. 

The kid snapped. 

Tony’s heart fell. 

The mad titan and his army fell away quickly, in a recreation of the first snap that left Tony with a similar feeling. He couldn’t have gone through all of that pain just to lose Peter minutes into getting him back. 

Tony opened his suit and ran, almost to Peter when Strange appeared straight in his line of sight. With rage boiling through him, Tony slammed Strange into the nearest slab of concrete, leaning in as his jaw set. 

“Did you know? Did you know Peter was it? Was this the one? How could you? He’s a  _ kid, dammit! He’s a kid!”  _

“I didn’t,” Strange’s face was shock as he turned his eyes towards Peter. “This wasn’t one of them… I didn’t see this. It was supposed to be you.” 

And if there was anything Strange should have said, that wasn’t it. But the weird doctor wasn’t known for his subtlety. 

Tony shoved passed him, falling to his knees beside Rhodes who was also out of his suit. His friend was working on laying Peter out, yelling for medical help.

Tony’s hands hovered over Peter’s heads as the kid’s exhausted eyes flickered over to meet Tony’s. 

“Mr. Stark?” The kid’s voice was so faint that Tony could barely make it out. 

“Hey, you better keep those peepers open, fido.” Peter just grunted, as Strange settled beside Rhodey. They’d managed to grab a gurney from somewhere. Tony’s eyes met Strange;s, and Tony wanted nothing more than to shove the man away from Peter. 

Strange began to stablilize Peter’s neck with a c-collar. “I know a doctor, Christine. Between her and myself, we’re the best chance he’s got. Let me fix this.” 

Tony sat back, he had no other options. He looked down at Peter, his heart dropping as he noticed the kid’s eyes were closed. 

“Fix him.” 

* * *

And now it has been weeks. Tony, May, and the kids friends rotated times with Peter. His body was almost healed, barely a trace of the snap was left on his skin. His mind, that was the problem. Strange had explained it by saying the stone’s power affected more than just the body. They had exhausted Peter’s mind, torn into his soul. Peter’s body, in an effort to protect himself, had kept him shut down. 

So here they were. Day in and day out. 

Tony sat back in his chair, dropping his tablet onto the table beside him. 

“Alright pal, listen here… it's been almost two months, alright? Now it's time for you to come back. I didn’t just invent time travel to get Cap’s friends back, alright? Despite popular belief, I’m not that nice of a guy. I would dare say that figuring it all out was purely for selfish motivation.” Tony leaned forward, resting his elbows on the bed. 

“If I’m being honest, the past five years were absolute hell. Of course, wonderful things came from it that I would never try to change. Morgan was something I… I never would have thought I would have. Grieving you though… God, I’ve never felt more guilt over something in my life. Having to tell your aunt that you…” Tony shook his head. “That was one of the worst moments of my life. So, listen to me - you wake yourself up right now. I can’t keep telling her that we don’t know when your eyes are going to open. It's time for you to make your debut, buddy.” 

Tony sat, watching Peter’s face, listening to the ventilator once more. He let out a deep sigh when nothing changed. “Yeah, I guess I’ve never been all that convincing anyway.” 

Tony leaned back in his chair, before he blinked his eyes closed, laying his head back to stare at the ceiling. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep. 

* * *

Tony woke up to a rapid beeping, and someone moving in the bed… someone moving in the bed! He jerked up, and turned to see Peter’s eyes wide open, panicked - as he stared at the ceiling. Panicked grunts came from his mouth as he fought weakly against the covers that lay over him. 

Tony frantically pressed the call button as he leaned over Peter, grabbing the kid’s shoulders in an effort to keep him still. 

“Hey-hey buddy… you’re okay, you’re okay. Strange is on his way, alright? You’re at the tower, everythings alright. Just rest alright. Just calm down.” 

Peter struggled for a moment more before his eyes rested on Tony’s. Tony could see as Peter recognized him, and began to relax in his hold, althought his heart monitor still raged around them. 

Christine and Strange burst into the room, and Tony took a step back. 

“Hey, Peter. We’re going to go ahead and get this ventilator out, that should make you much more comfortable. On the count of three, I want you to cough. It won’t feel great, but it’ll all feel better as soon as it's over.” 

“One, two, three.” Tony winced as he heard Peter coughing and gagging. Stephen moved the ventilation tube away from Peter as Christine helped the kid get through the worst of it. “Alright, Peter. I’m going to administer a pain medication, its going to make you tired, but we’ll be right here for the next time you wake up, alright?” Dr. Christine grabbed a syringe, and Tony took the moment to step in next to Peter. He rested a hand on Peter’s shoulder and gave a slight squeeze. 

“Hey, buddy. God, it's good to see your eyes again.” Tony muttered, though the eyes in question were quickly growing heavy with sedation. “Why dont you just rest, and we’ll talk when you wake up.” 

Peter blinked his eyes heavily as he looked back up at Tony. “M’ss’d y’u.” The kid all but whispered, and Tony felt his heart warm. 

“Yeah, bud. I missed you too.” 

  
  



	30. altered state (of mind)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You will not defeat me,” the thing hisses. “How can you, when you are fighting him instead?”
> 
> Something moves in the darkness behind Knull. Tony watches in horror as the figure – small, slim, familiar – climbs to its feet and turns to face him.
> 
> It’s Peter, but there’s something wrong in the way he moves, the blank expression on his face. His gaze lands on Tony, and – shit, his eyes are black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how are we nearly at the end? i swear october just started. thank you for reading all this way, and thank you to everyone who's left kudos and comments. we've been _blown away_ by your response to this, so enjoy the last solo chapter, and both elane and i will see you tomorrow! 💕
> 
> knull is a comics villain who controls venom to use him. yes i spent entirely too much time researching this
> 
> warnings: mind control, venom being a caffeine addict

“What the fuck?” Tony says, gesturing to the swirling blackness reaching into the sky, winged creatures circling around it like vultures before a battle. “No, really, I’d love to know: what the fuck?”

“His name is Knull,” Thor says gravely. “He is an ancient god, although much of his power has diminished. He controls his creatures with a hive mind.”

“Oh, that’s super,” Sam mutters.

“Indeed. We must be cautious. Knull will be hiding in his fortress.”

“What’s the fortress?”

Thor points to the swirling black cloud.

“Okay,” Tony says. “Awesome.”

“It is awesome, yes. Truly terrifying.”

“Ah, I think some words changed their meanings since you were first on Earth, big guy.”

“Quite fantastic.”

“Also different.”

“Language is a wonderful thing!”

Peter laughs softly, fiddling with his webshooters. “This is the weirdest mission I’ve ever been on, Mr Stark.”

“It’s up there for me too, kid.”

A creature caws in the distance.

“The longer Knull resides on earth, the deeper he can spread his roots. We must get rid of him.”

“You have the experience,” Sam says. “It’s your mission. You take the lead, man.”

Thor nods. “As soon as we move closer, his wyverns will swarm. If you can distract them for long enough, I will attempt to enter his fortress and kill him.”

“Oh, easy, then,” Rhodey says. 

“I think so, yes.”

Tony grimaces. “Remind me to teach you about sarcasm when this is over.”

They leap into the fight.

* * *

This isn’t the worst battle Tony’s ever been in – New York, circa 2012, and the ruins of the Compound, circa 2023, hold the top two spots – but it’s up there. The wyvern-creature-things are swarming so densely that neither he, Rhodey nor Sam can take off, but he has Peter fighting at his back, Thor heading the charge. They can do this.

“Get off me!”

That’s Peter. Tony whirls, aiming his repulsors, but one of the wyverns has Peter in a clawed grip, and he can’t risk hitting the kid.

It huffs, a puff of steam spiralling out of its nostrils, and takes off. Tony yells in wordless horror as Peter lets out a screech, and the thing disappears into the swarm. Tony follows its path frantically, searching for the bright colours of Peter’s suit between wings and tails.

_“Put me down!”_ Peter’s screaming. _“Put me down–!”_

The creature soars higher, its talons still wrapped tightly around Peter’s arms.

_“Don’t put me down, don’t put me down–!”_

“Hang on, kid!” Tony calls, bending his knees to take off, but another monster lands in front of him, snapping its fangs, and he has to leap out of the way as it rears up.

_“Don’t drop me–!”_

“Sam, Rhodey! Get to Spider-Man!”

_“Little busy here, Tones!”_

“Peter!” Tony yells, all rational thought lost under the instinct to just panic. “Peter!”

_“Mr Stark–!”_

Silence. Peter’s shout cut off. Tony shoots the creature and finally manages to take off, searching frantically for that familiar red and blue. Nothing.

“Peter?” he calls. “Can anyone see Spider-Man? Where’s the kid?”

_“His tracker is inside the fortress,”_ FRIDAY says.

“Inside the evil tornado.”

_“Yes.”_

“Christ.”

“I am moving to engage Knull!” Thor announces.

“Coming with you,” Tony says sharply, and shoots forward, following Thor’s shape towards the black cloud. He keeps his eyes forward, squinting.

_“Tones, are you flying into that thing?”_

Of course he is. Peter’s in there. “Don’t worry, honeybear–“

He hits the cloud. The comms cut off.

“Shit.”

It’s pitch black, but there’s none of the turbulence he expected, so he just keeps flying as straight as he can, laser-focused. If Knull thinks he can take Tony’s kid, he has another thing coming. 

And then it’s over, they’re through, and Thor lands on a black floor that looks like it could be marble. Tony follows him, frowning at the darkness surrounding them.

“Pretty dingy in here,” he says. Anything to break the silence. “Does he want the name of my interior designer? She’s a miracle worker filling spaces with light.”

“I suspect he is further inside,” Thor says, pointing with his axe. 

“Do you think he’ll have Peter there?”

“Most likely.”

“Then lead the way, big guy.”

They move forward, silently forking off further down the strange dark corridor. Tony nods, heads left, arms raised and ready to fire. Maybe this Knull thinks he’s a god, but Tony’s made a god bleed.

And then he sees the jagged throne rising like rocks bursting from the ground, sees red eyes glinting in the shadows. A dark shape moves.

Peter. Where’s Peter?

“You will not win,” it snarls.

“Thor,” Tony murmurs, “on me. I found him. Let’s take him out.”

“You will not defeat me,” the thing hisses. “How can you, when you are fighting him instead?”

Something moves in the darkness behind Knull. Tony watches in horror as the figure – small, slim, familiar – climbs to its feet and turns to face him.

It’s Peter, but there’s something wrong in the way he moves, the blank expression on his face. His gaze lands on Tony, and – shit, his eyes are black.

A streak of red and silver shoots through the air and collides with Knull, the momentum sending them both crashing through several walls. In the same moment, Peter leaps.

He lands in front of Tony in a crouch and spins, knocking his feet out from under him. Before Tony can catch his breath, he’s been flung into a wall. FRIDAY flashes up the damage on his HUD.

“Peter!” Tony shouts. “What are you doing–?”

There’s a fist heading towards his face, and he fires his repulsors just in time to take off and dodge it. Peter’s punch cracks the wall where his head had just been.

“Okay.” This isn’t his kid, that much is obvious, but it’s still his body. He needs to get Knull out of the driving seat without hurting Peter. He hovers. “Kid, this isn’t you. There’s something wrong.”

“This is me,” Peter hisses. “You just never wanted to see it.”

Something hits Tony in the chest, and he glances down. Ah, yes. Spider-Man has webs.

Peter yanks. Tony goes crashing to the floor. He lays there for a second, winded, before rolling over just in time to block Peter’s next punch.

“Underoos,” he gasps out, “come on. Fight this.”

“I’ll fight you!”

Peter’s in there somewhere. He has to be. Tony just has to reach him.

“Webs–“ is all he manages before he has to jerk backwards to avoid Peter’s kick catching him in the chin.

“Shut up!”

“Aw, c’mon, Itsy-Bitsy, you love my nicknames.”

“Don’t call me that!” Peter snarls. “I _hate_ it when you call me that!”

“Yeah, sure. My Peter loves it, even if he pretends not to.”

“I am Peter!”

“No, you’re not,” Tony says calmly. “You in there, buddy?”

“I hate you!” Peter snarls. Black veins creep out along his cheeks, his temples, crawl up his neck. “We hate you!”

“All right, there, Gollum.” Tony blocks another punch, and winces as the armour around his forearm crumples. Peter’s strength is frightening; he doesn’t think the kid has ever let it loose like this before.

“Fight us, you fucking coward!”

“Not gonna fight you, kid. FRIDAY, sonic stun blast, please.”

_“Right away.”_

Peter doesn’t collapse instantly, but he stumbles back, doubles over, hands flying up to cover his ears. He doesn’t move.

“Pete?” Tony says. “Kid?”

“Mr Stark?” Peter whimpers, snapping his head up. His eyes are brown. “Mr Stark, help us – help us, he’s controlling us – _please_ , we don’t want to hurt you–“

“Who’s we, kid?”

“Do that again – whatever you just did–“

“Sonic blast, Fri,” Tony says again. “Not too hard.”

Peter cries out, clutching at his head, but backs away when Tony tries to move closer – the kid’s in pain, and it’s tearing at something in Tony’s chest. The black is disappearing, receding, until Peter crashes to his knees, then falls on his side.

“Peter!” Tony dives forward, clasping his face between both hands. “Pete, hey, come on. Did it work? Kid?”

Nothing. Peter’s eyes stay closed.

“Peter–“

Peter gasps and jolts back to life, grabbing Tony’s wrists.

“Hey, same side. Guess who? Hi.”

“Oh, my God,” Peter wheezes, “I’m so sorry – I broke your suit–“

“Wasn’t your fault. Wasn’t you. Thor’s working on taking that guy down. You’re okay. Just stay there.”

“One sec,” Peter says, and tilts his head like he’s listening to someone talk. “Okay, come on.”

And then–

Something peels out behind Peter’s head, something black and snake-like and monstrous–

Tony screams, scrambling backwards, and aims his repulsors.

“No, no, no, wait!” Some of the black mass peels away, and half of Peter’s face is back. “It’s okay, Mr Stark. He’s friendly.”

“He?” Tony repeats, his voice about an octave higher than he’d like. “ _Who_ is _he_?”

“ _I am Venom_.” Its voice, growling, snarling, makes Tony shudder. 

“I am…Tony Stark.” Tony sits up cautiously. “Either of you want to tell me what’s going on?”

“He’s a symbiote,” Peter says. “Knull used him to control me.”

“Then–“

“He didn’t want to. He needs a host to survive, and Knull used that to control him. He wants to go home.”

“Right.” Tony turns to the side of Peter’s face that’s covered in black ooze. “Got anywhere we can take you? A home? The Andromeda Galaxy? A black hole–?”

_“San Francisco.”_

“You’re from San Francisco?”

_“I am not from there,”_ Venom says, _“but it is my home. I need to find Eddie.”_

“Eddie,” Tony repeats. “Eddie in San Francisco.”

“I know who he is,” Peter says, half of him still hidden behind the black monster; it’s the most bizarre thing Tony thinks he’s ever seen. “That journalist guy. Brock.”

“Eddie Brock?”

_“Yes. Eddie.”_

“Okay,” Tony says, “okay. This is – I don’t know what to do here. I’m flying blind.”

“I can – he can stay with me until we get him home,” Peter says. “Uh, do you mind…?”

_“No.”_ Venom folds away, seemingly disappearing back into Peter. 

“It was freaking you out a bit, wasn’t it?” Peter says.

“Oh, could you tell?”

“No, I didn’t mean you were an it! I meant – the whole thing – oh, whatever.” Peter grins ruefully. “Sorry, he’s a bit sensitive.”

“Sensitive. Sure.” Tony moves forward again, searching Peter’s face. No black. “You okay? Did I hurt you?”

“Ears are ringing a bit, but nothing bad.” Peter looks down. “Shouldn’t have let him get the jump on me. I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. Guy’s basically a god.”

“And still no match for me,” Thor’s voice declares, and Tony turns to see him striding towards them.

“You got him, Point Break?”

“Indeed. I called upon the forefathers and scattered his essence to the farthest reaches of the universe. It will be millennia before he reforms. Without their master, the wyverns have scattered.”

“Nice work, big guy.” Tony stands and helps Peter to his feet. “You sure everything’s good, kid? All your limbs where they should be?”

“I want chocolate,” Peter whines, “like, _so_ bad. And tater tots. And coffee.”

“Weird, but I’ll take it.”

“ _Chocolate_ ,” Peter almost growls, then shakes himself, looking horrified. “No, just wait – I’m hungry too! And you don’t see me – oh my God!”

Tony frowns. “Your ride share sounds fun.”

“Don’t even repeat that,” Peter says. “I mean it. I don’t wanna hear about it ever again. I’m getting you chocolate, dude.”

“I wish I could say this is the strangest thing that’s happened to me,” Tony sighs, “but I’d be lying. Let’s go, Webdoodle. Better shift it if we want to get to California and back before tonight.”

“Yeah.” Peter sighs. “Thank you – for getting him out. He wanted us to kill you, and–“

Tony pulls him close, kisses the top of his head. Peter hugs him back, then stiffens.

“Kid?”

“Can you do that again?”

“Um. Okay.” Tony’s pretty sure this isn’t new for either of them, but he kisses the top of Peter’s head again.

“Not to make it weird,” Peter says, “but he really likes it.”

_What the fuck?_ “No, this is weird. Too weird. You made it weird. He made it weird. There’s a touch-starved oil-slick–“

“He’s an alien symbiote.”

“–that’s addicted to junk food inhabiting my kid.”

“Is this the strangest thing that’s happened to you yet?”

“Yes.”

Peter grins, then winces. “He _really_ wants coffee.”


	31. Today’s Special: Torture (Grand Finale)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He knows his uniform, his mask, his weapons. 
> 
> He knows his abilities. 
> 
> His life has been the same thing as long as he could remember. 
> 
> But today, as he steps into his equipment room, he knows that it’s time to accomplish the mission he’s been training for for his entire time with Hydra. 
> 
> He has to kill Tony Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooowww! Okay, where to start? It’s the LAST DAY?? How did this happen? It feels like I started dreaming up the first idea and talking to Ciara about collabing just yesterday!   
> This month has flown, and I have you guys to thank for your overwhelming and endless support! I cannot ever say thank you enough! I hope you all have enjoyed whumptober as much as we have! Hugs and kisses to you all, please come say hi on tumblr whenever you would like! I am always down to make new friends! And the biggest thanks to Ciara for blurring up with me rambling, torturous ways of writing poor Peter!!! I wouldn’t have even attempted whumptober without you! Love you friend!   
> \- Elane
> 
> thank you everyone once again for the love and support you’ve all given this fic! we couldn’t have done it without you, and i definitely couldn’t have done it without elane’s help!! this has been an awesome collab, 10/10 would recommend 💕  
> \- Ciara
> 
> For the last time: we hope you enjoy this chapter ;)

He doesn’t know anything but the missions. Assignment after assignment. Pain, fighting, a memory, the electricity chamber, fighting, pain. 

Numbness. 

That’s how he would define his life. 

Numb. 

It’s sitting on the ground for so long that your feet go numb, just staring at them. Knowing you should be able to use it, but being unable. He knows he should have memories. Sometimes he tries to imagine what they might have been like, and wonders how he ended up working for Hydra. But he doesn’t know how to use it. His mind is broken, his focus easily channeled and manipulated by whomever wants it at the uttering of just six words. 

He doesn’t know how long he’d been here. Just knows he hasn’t felt a kind touch since he could remember. He knows his room. A grey bed with grey walls and a grey bathroom. 

He knows his uniform, his mask, his weapons. 

He knows his abilities. 

His life has been the same thing as long as he could remember. 

But today, as he steps into his equipment room, he knows that it’s time to accomplish the mission he’s been training for for his entire time with Hydra. 

He has to kill Tony Stark.

* * *

Clad head to toe in black, he watches the target exit the building, walking slowly, head down, hardly aware of his surroundings. These are always the easiest ones; the suspicious targets give him much more trouble. 

The target moves, and he follows, hopping from building to building, keeping low. He cannot be spotted. His usefulness depends on stealth, on secrecy, so he waits until the target is out of sight of his building before he makes his move.

The side street is empty –  _ alley _ , his mind supplies – so he pulls out his gun, drops from his perch, lands in a crouch, and the target rears back on his heels.

They’re always shocked, at first. The fear comes later.

But then the target moves, reaching for his wrist, and pulls something over his hand before he can react.

“Fucking Hydra,” the target hisses. “Wondered when you’d show your face. One of them, anyway.”

The target is prepared, unafraid. He hesitates – no, he  _ freezes _ – because this does not fit the mission parameters as they were laid out to him, and the target raises his hand, wrapped in some kind of gauntlet, some kind of weapon, that he cannot categorise but feels familiar all the same.

Nothing happens.

“Fri?” the target says, sounding frustrated.

_ “I am not permitted to fire.” _ It is a tinny, computerised voice. He can’t quite place where it comes from. He does not like to be disoriented.

“I  _ am _ permitting – no, I’m ordering you. Threat’s imminent. Let’s go, girl.”

_ “I am not permitted to fire on Peter Parker.” _

Something happens to the target: his face slackens, his arm drops to his side, and he stumbles a step forward, as if unsteady on his feet. Is he ill? The mission just became a lot easier.

“Pete?” he whispers.

He frowns, tilts his head. It feels like he is being addressed, but not by any name he recognises. 

“Peter,” the target says, “it’s me. Tony. You know me. Mr Stark. Come on, kid.” The target steps forward again, weapon still lowered.  _ Weakness _ . 

He strikes, sending the target stumbling back into the alley wall, off-guard, off-balance. He could end it now, quickly, quietly. The way his handlers have trained him. But he  _ can’t _ .

The target is looking at him again with an expression he can’t decipher, hand still outstretched – but the weapon is folded away now. “Peter.”

The same name. What does it mean?

“Peter, look at me.”

He does. He meets the target’s eyes, watching as they begin to water. He doesn’t want the target to speak to him like that. He begins to feel… a  _ weight _ settling on his chest. Like something has been torn from him. 

“Please, kid.” 

Those words set him off, anger surging through his body as he moves forward, gripping his knives, and slashes at the man in front of him. 

“Shit!” The target – Tony – jumps back, avoiding the attack. “Fri, run defensive protocols, get me a suit ASAP. Make sure we don’t hurt him! Get Rogers and Barnes here now!” 

He doesn’t know what the man was talking about; all he knows is that this was the moment he has been waiting for. 

He –  _ Peter?  _ – swings a knife at the man in front of him, frustration building as the man stays just out of his reach. 

He throws a knife, but his frustration is taking over, making him lose focus, and Tony jumps behind a car. The blade sinks into the metal of the vehicle’s door up to its hilt, and stays there, quivering. He should not have missed. He is failing.

The fight has already gone on for longer than Hydra would like, and he knows Ross is going to tear into him for not getting in and out quickly.

A strange sound fills his ears… one that makes him pause. He… he knows that sound from somewhere? Doesn’t he? 

Then Tony is being enveloped in an Iron Man suit, and he dives out from behind the car and back into the fight. Peter – why would the man call him Peter? Why is Tony acting as though he knows him? 

He’s distracted for long enough that a metal cuff flies out from the iron suit and wraps around his wrist. He looks down, about to try and rip it off when a strange buzzing noise comes from it, and suddenly he's being hauled backwards by his wrist, the cuff magnetizing to a van. He’s about to rip it off and aim his knife towards the target once more when his watch beeps four times consecutively. He curses himself. That’s the “get out” cue. 

He feels fear coursing through him as he rips the cuff off. He’s failed. The mission they have trained him for, the one thing he is meant for, and he’s failed. They weren’t supposed to be in the public eye for more than three minutes, and now his target knows that Hydra is after him again. He had called for reinforcements. The element of surprise is gone.

With nerves racing through him, he jumps over the van he’d just been attached to and begins to climb the wall. His extraction unit is two blocks away. He hears the suit following him, but if there’s one thing he was certain of his abilities in, it’s getting away when he needs to. 

* * *

He’s back at base camp. The plane ride back had been painful, the air thick with the promise of torture. No one spoke to him. He’d been told Ross was waiting for him, that the boss was angry, and that had been enough for him to have flashbacks of other times when he’d failed to make his boss happy. It had never been good. 

But now… he’d seen what happened to those who failed to complete their missions. 

Now, back at the base camp, he’d been taken to the metal room. He is sitting in his least favorite seat, doctors and guards standing around him as he tries to calm his breathing.

He can’t stop thinking of his target’s words.

_ Peter. You know me. Mr Stark. Peter. _

That has to be him. Peter. The target had said it, again and again, with intent, with  _ meaning _ . He’d always suspected that he’d been someone before he’d started working for Hydra; he’d just never known who, or what. 

But now...

He’s yanked out of his thoughts when the door slams open and Ross bursts into the room, rage etched into his face. 

“You had one mission! One!” Ross storms up to Peter, furious, his chest heaving as he turns to look at the guards. “We’re done with him. Wipe him. Fresh Ice protocol.” 

“But sir–” one of the guards starts, but Ross just shoves Peter down against the back of the chair and presses the button, causing metal bands to wrap around Peter’s arms, legs, and neck, pinning him down.

“Do it!” he yells, spittle flying from his mouth.

Normally, a mouthpiece would be put into place before the shock waves start, but Peter has never heard of the Fresh Ice protocol. He begins to strain against the restraints, for the first time in… well, he doesn’t know how long, but he knows he doesn’t want to lose the memories of his target… of Tony Stark. 

“I knew him,” Peter whispers quietly. Ross pauses, looking over at Peter with rage burning in his eyes. “I knew him.” 

“Start now,” Ross says, watching as the head piece closes around Peter’s face. He winces as the prongs dig into his skin. 

The pain begins.

* * *

He looks up, breathing hard. His body twinges with pain as he shakes in the chair. He doesn’t remember why he feels so weak.

Ross scoffs. “You failed your mission. We no longer have any use for you.” 

He steps forward, pulls a pistol from its holster, and without hesitation, shoots Peter in his thigh. He cries out in pain, his head falling back onto the chair for support. He can feel blood leaking down his leg as he takes in shaking breaths, doing his best to blink away the spots filling his vision.

Ross nods to the guards standing either side. “Take him outside. Leave him. The snow will cover his body in a few hours. It's time for us to head to a new location, so tell the others to pack it up. We need to be out of here in twenty minutes.” 

* * *

He lies in the snow, confusion wrapping itself tightly around his brain. He doesn’t know why they shot him, doesn’t know why he’s here. He looks down at his leg, his head pounding with pain as he tries to grip the side of his right thigh. He knows Ross didn’t hit an artery, he would have been dead by now, but artery or not, he’s bleeding…and freezing. 

When he tries to stand, to run after someone in hopes of getting help, he simply falls back over, his vision swimming as he lands in the snow. 

He feels so alone, so lost. 

He curls in on himself and closes his eyes. 

He stops shivering at some point… quicker than he thought it would happen. Or maybe time is just… floating – waving by him, and he is useless to stop it. 

The snow around him is a haunting shade of red. 

It jolts something in him. A… a memory? 

_ Red and blue. _

_ Laughter…  _ it had been so long since he heard laughter.

He blinks hard. He feels… warm. Maybe someone gave him a jacket. He closes his eyes. Visions of the past, things he doesn’t remember, flashes through his mind. 

Long, brown hair. Wire rim glasses. A warm smile, and burnt food. 

Colorful bricks, funny shows, deep laughter and science jokes.

Dark hair and eyes. Flat words, a warm shoulder on an airplane. 

A goatee and metal clanging. Loud words and an arm over his shoulders. 

These things – these  _ memories  _ – they wrap tightly around him, a blanket of comfort that brings him peace as his mind begins to slow. 

* * *

“Peter? Peter, hey.”

He is cold. It’s one of his defects; he cannot regulate his temperature effectively.

“Kid, wake up. Hey, come on.”

The voice is irritating. It won’t let him sleep.

“Open those eyes, buddy, come on. It’s Tony, Pete. It’s me. Please, kid, not now. I just found you.  _ Please _ .”

Maybe he should see what that noise is. He peels open one eye, then the other.

“Hey,” the voice says gently, “hey, there you are.”

It takes a minute for his vision to focus, but when it does, he finds himself staring at his target’s face, silhouetted against a stormy grey sky. Something wet is running down his face.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Tony says. His breaths are hitching strangely. “I’m here now, I’m here, I’ve got you.” He reaches forward, and warm hands clasp Peter’s face. “ _ Kid _ .”

Peter – and he knows for certain now that’s his name – wants to say something, wants to move, but he can’t, and his eyes slip closed again.

* * *

Peter wakes to sharp pain, pressure on his leg, and it  _ hurts.  _ He feels hands on his shoulders and legs, people hold him down as he tries to fight off the pressure. Terrible pressure. 

“Why the  _ hell  _ is the kid awake?” 

“20 more mili–” 

He fades out as quickly as he came in.

* * *

Waking up is different this time. He doesn’t open his eyes immediately, he just tries to take stock of where he is and what injuries he has. 

Peter starts at his toes, wiggling them slowly as he works his way up. He gasps at the pain in his thigh. 

Then he starts at his fingers and… panic set in. For a moment he thought he remembered a worried voice and gentle hands but… he’s tied down. His wrists wrapped in leather. 

Peter’s eyes snap open at that, and he begins to pull his arms, doing his best to break the restraints. 

He’s back there, back in the chair, and they’re going to hurt him, wipe him, he can’t do it again,  _ he can’t– _

“Woah, woah, woah! Hey, Peter – buddy, I need you to stop fighting, alright? You’re at the Compound.” That same voice – his target…no,  _ Tony Stark’s  _ voice draws his attention. “We just did that so we could make sure you weren’t going to…that you were in your right mind.” 

Peter opens his eyes, and he finds himself looking right at Tony. The man looks painfully worried. “I’m going to get those off of you, alright? Just…stay calm, buddy.” 

Peter just stares at Tony, confusion blinding him. Why is this man being kind to him? Peter was sent to kill him. Is it a trick?

Tony undoes the strap on his right arm, and in a split second Peter shoves him backwards, ignoring the searing pain that jolts through his entire body, and he tears off the other cuff. 

Tony stays where he was pushed against the door, hands held up in surrender, calm. 

Peter throws himself off the bed, and backs up to the corner of the hospital room by the window.  _ Trapped _ . “I don’t – I don’t… I don't know who you are!” he yells, because everything is  _ too much _ right now.

“Yeah, you do,” Tony says evenly. “You do. I saw you. You’re in there, Peter.”

“No!”

“You know me. In that alley, you knew me.”

_ I knew him. _

“You knew your name, Peter.”

“I don’t know who Peter is!” he cries. “Just leave – just leave me alone!” His hands stick to the wall behind him as his vision blurs, partly due to the pain of his leg and partly due to the tears. 

“Not likely, kid. It’s been long enough without you.”

Without him? Did he go somewhere? Is this the  _ before _ ? The  _ someone _ he thought he might have been? The feeling he always had, of something before Hydra, that he couldn’t shake, no matter how much they tried to convince him otherwise? Peter shakes his head, closes his eyes.

“Your name is Peter Benjamin Parker. You’re nineteen years old. There was a fire…we, we thought you died. But you didn’t, and we have you back now, and we are  _ never  _ letting you go again.” Peter just shakes his head again, but Tony continues speaking. “You just started your first year at MIT, the school I always wanted you to go to. You’re so smart, you know that? You give me a run for my money. You’re dating Michelle Jones, and your best friend is Ned Leeds. Your aunt is May Parker, and she – God, she loves you so much. She can’t wait to get in this room and see you. And I – I’m something like a mentor to you. You mean more to me than I have ever admitted, and I know this is going to be hard – and it’s going to hurt, but we are here for you. All of us. I’m here for you.” 

And it hits Peter like a bullet between his eyes. He cries out, a hand flying to his temple as he slides down the wall, his injured leg coming out in front of him. 

He can’t  _ breathe.  _ Memories hit him. Good and bad. 

His parents. Moving in with Ben and May. Ben dying.  _ His fault. His fault. His fault.  _ May holding him, Ned holding him, MJ holding him. 

Spider-Man taking over his life. Doing good with the gifts he was given. 

Meeting Mr. Stark. 

Titan. Dying. Pain and fear. 

Coming back. 

The fire, a dart hitting his neck. 

Pain.  _ Pain. PAIN.  _ They stole his memories, his name, his  _ life _ .

Working – doing jobs for Hydra. Nothing but the next mission. Doing unspeakable things, things he used to web people up for. 

Peter is sobbing, his chest hitching with each breath, the pain suffocating him. 

Hands pulling him forward, his forehead resting on a chest. Peter’s fingers grip Tony’s shirt as he cries. Tony must know what he’s done. He must hate him.

“I did – I – I did  _ terrible things. _ I can’t do this…I can’t–” 

Tony just hushes him quietly. “You don’t have to do anything today. Just rest, alright? We’ve got you now. We got you back.” Tony – Mr. Stark holds him close. “We’ve got you back.” 

And Peter finds himself letting out a deep sigh, resting in the moment – resting in the knowledge that he has people that love him, people that care enough about him not to let go. He isn’t okay now – he won’t be for a while – but eventually, things will be just fine. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, please feed the coin slot with a comment and/or kudos
> 
> If you feel the need to scream at one or both of the authors, please feel the freedom to do so ;) We like to be screamed at! 
> 
> Remember, drink your water, wash your face, and always Stan Irondad! 
> 
> Tumblrs:
> 
> Elane - [itsreallylaterightnow](https://itsreallylaterightnow.tumblr.com)  
> Ciara - [akillerqueenwrites](https://akillerqueenwrites.tumblr.com) or [akillerqueenyouare](https://akillerqueenyouare.tumblr.com)
> 
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